The Danger of Love
by lilkyonkyon
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single wizard in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife. Dramione. Based on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Rated for language. Further summary inside.
1. Chapter I

**Title:** The Danger of Love

**Setting:** Hogwarts, Sixth Year

**Summary:** Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are accepted into a new advanced course at Hogwarts called Healing Potions and Magic. They both leap at the opportunity, but they had no idea what it entailed - new acquaintances, new friendships, and new loves.

**Disclaimer:** Credit to the amazing Jane Austen, for her masterpiece simply known as _Pride and Prejudice_. I have read that book more times than I can count! Oh, and credit to J.K. too. Can't forget that, can I?

**Chapter I**

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single wizard in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Whether the particular wizard in question is aware of this desire is trivial. Once he reaches the age of eligibility at sixteen, it is recognized by all of the young unmarried witches that he has begun his search for a spouse. It is with great pride, then, that these young witches become all that is beautiful, amiable, and accomplished, so that one lucky girl will be chosen from the rest to become a bride.

Naturally, love has nothing to do with the young man's quest. In fact, even a ticklish fancy can prove a rather troublesome thing for a wizard to have. Whimsies like fondness unquestionably thrive outside of custom, of sense, and even outside of common decency. Each young man knows that it distracts the mind from more important matters and hinders judgment to an alarming degree. From childhood, they are told horror stories where perfectly respectable wizards give up everything they've ever had for something as ephemeral as affection, and they receive almost nothing in return. Love, they know, is the enemy.

This is why love was always the furthest thing from Draco Malfoy's mind. He may not have known the existence of these reasons, but in the end, his mother and father had taught him well: Love was a burden of the heaviest sort. But sometimes things change in the course of one's life that cannot be controlled, and on his sixteenth birthday, when the young master blew out the last candle on his cake, he had no inkling that he would fall in love within the year, despite all of his most cherished beliefs and values.

Poor sod.

It began with a letter, innocent enough, received with his list of supplies three days before school was to begin. The letter had immediately roused his curiosity — it was obviously from Hogwarts, as it was carried by the same type of non-descript owl as his supply list. Eagerly, he snatched it from the bird's foot and tore it open.

_To Mister Draco Malfoy_, it began, _your outstanding grades the past few years have made you eligible for an accelerated course open only to sixth year students called Healing Potions and Magic. This course will be taught by our very own Madame Pomfrey, and will focus on exposing students to various types of healing spells, preventative potions, and the sort. It is highly recommended for all eligible students, but especially those who would like to become a Healer, an Auror, or a Magical Researcher. Please discuss this with your family to find if this course is right for you._

_Yours sincerely, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts._

He read it again before he announced to his parents, "This letter says I've been accepted into an accelerated healing course at school."

Coldly, his father glanced at him over his tea cup. "I wouldn't have expected anything less from you." Draco's mother said nothing at all, as she was choosing a biscuit from the small assortment set out on the table.

It was high-tea at the Malfoy Manor. A charming scene, isn't it?

"I expect you to enroll yourself in this class," his father continued after a sip. "This year I anticipate even greater things from you."

"Yes, Father."

"Pour your mother a cup of tea, then."

Delicately, as he had been taught in etiquette school (his secret shame), Draco lifted the teapot with his right hand and poured just the right amount of earl grey tea into his mother's cup.

"Thank you, Draco," she pronounced.

"You're welcome," he returned just as fluidly, setting the pot down and magicking a quill and a piece of parchment to accept his enrollment in the class. With well-trained penmanship, he scrolled his short reply and then snapped his fingers to call up a house elf.

"Send this to Hogwarts immediately," he told the elf that appeared. "It is important."

"Yes, Mister Malfoy," the house elf squeaked back, bowing courteously before disappearing. And, as simple as that, Draco Malfoy was accepted into the rather small class of eight students, all the best and brightest of his yearmates, one of whom in particular would prove to be a nuisance to him and his plans for domestic felicity. Her name was Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger, unlike Draco Malfoy, was a muggle-born, meaning neither of her parents had any magical blood to speak of. And, unlike Draco Malfoy, she imagined herself unconcerned with these things. She was raised in a thoroughly middle-class world, and although she had mingled with the wealthy, she was not interested in their everyday concerns. In fact, she believed them to be too wrapped up in unimportant matters such as money and appearance when self-reliance and cleverness were clearly more important. If she were to tell Draco this, he'd have laughed her out of the room. That is why neither Draco nor Hermione saw what was coming; for this story is how these two, in a very gradual and lengthy manner, fell in love.

Did I mention that it took a bit of time?

Good.


	2. Chapter II

Dear Qoheleth,

Naturally, it's speculation on my part, but that's what I think. It makes sense, doesn't it? ^^ Even if it has no appearance in the Harry Potter books, Draco/Hermione is my favorite.

Much love, lilkyonkyon

**Chapter II**

Draco stepped off the scarlet train in the same manner that he had the previous five years of his life — as if he were a god descending among mortals. The smoke from the wheels poured around his ankles, and he was feeling right powerful with his Prefect badge pinned neatly on his collar. The younger students passing by had the sense to avoid his eyes as he strode towards the carriages, Crabbe and Goyle trailing faithfully behind him.

The three of them boarded a horseless carriage almost immediately, but there was a tussle outside when two Slytherin girls tried to gain the one empty seat left beside Draco. In the end, it was Pansy Parkinson who won out, and she triumphantly seated herself beside him. Draco did nothing more than glance in her direction, but Pansy gave him such a winning smile, she knew that she was making an impression on him.

She was, in a way. Draco was pondering how her teeth were like a rat's — small, pointed, yellowing. She probably had to gnaw on something around the clock, too, or else her teeth would grow too large for her mouth.

"Hullo, Draco," she said, unaware of his rather cruel thoughts. "It's been a long time since I've seen you. You've grown so tall!" He uttered something in the affirmative and glanced outside the window, checking to see if the castle had gotten any closer. She laughed as if he had made a very funny joke, and her voice echoed like a tinkling bell.

Crabbe and Goyle shifted awkwardly in their seats. They, too, weren't aware of the traditions driving pure-blood marriages, and Pansy's clear preference for Draco was a wild change from last year, when she had been a bit coquettish with everyone. The two, therefore, remained silent, sending each other confused glances once in awhile. This left Pansy, with an occasional one-word reply from Draco, to keep up her prattle for the duration of the ride. When the carriage finally came to a halt in front of Hogwarts, Crabbe and Goyle burst outside and all but ran towards the front gate. Draco was about to follow them, but then he remembered to offer his hand to Pansy, just as his father had taught him. Pansy grinned at him as prettily as she could. He was definitely a catch — rich and courteous. Her mother had been right, Draco Malfoy was in the bag.

The moment was ruined for her when the next carriage pulled to a halt beside the pair. Its doors popped open to reveal four Gryffindors, the ones that every Slytherin had learned to despise. Pansy, despite herself, sneered. "They're abominable, aren't they? And look at poor Granger's hair! It looks like it's been through a brush fire." Draco heartily agreed. "Do you think there's a chance they'll get suspended this year?"

"Let's hope," Malfoy said with a bit of wistfulness, and the two set off for the Great Hall, Draco pulling ahead of her with every stride.

Behind them, Hermione Granger was breathlessly explaining her new class to her three friends. ". . . Of course, I've looked over all of the materials already, and I'm quite excited for the class to begin. It's going to be just a small amount of students, so I really hope I can get along with everyone in the class. I heard that it's two people per house. In fact, I just —"

"Hermione, please, give it a rest!" Ron groaned. "You sound like you haven't had human contact for months!"

The blood rushed to her face, but she fluidly replied, "I guess you're right, since I mostly talked to you."

Ron turned an equally brilliant shade of red, but before he could retort, Harry intervened. "Listen, you two, I thought I said no big fights for at least a month."

"Fine," they both huffed, turning away from each other. Harry sighed, but Ginny distracted him by pointing out a welcome face.

"Hagrid!" he burst, a grin splitting across his face.

" 'Arry! 'ow are ye?" The two embraced, and Hermione and Ron each took a turn as well. "Glad ter see you three!" Ginny cleared her throat. "Oh, sorry, Ginny. Didn' know you were there. 'Course I'm glad ter see you too, Ginny."

She feigned anger for a bit more before her lips split into an agreeable smile. "It's good to see you," she laughed, embracing him as well. The four students followed their professor into the Great Hall, asking him benign questions about his summer vacations before he split off to head for the faculty's table. The Gryffindors went to take a seat as Dumbledore called for everyone's attention.

"Good evening, boys and girls," he said with his trademark smile. "It is good to see you all again. I don't want to make this long, however, because I find I am rather hungry tonight."

"Have I ever told you three how much I love that old coot?" Ron murmured dreamily.

Dumbledore continued, "Let us sort the first years, welcome them, and start eating as quickly as possible. So please, Professor McGonagall, bring in the first years."

The doors boomed open on cue and she marched the skittish boys and girls to the front of the room. Even the Sorting Hat's song was a bit faster than usual; it had probably heard Dumbledore's remark earlier. The students were promptly divided into the four houses, Gryffindor naturally receiving the braver-looking ones. After the last student was sorted, the hat fell silent. Professor McGonagall set it and the stool aside while Dumbledore began his speech, breezing over the basics like why the Forbidden Forest has 'forbidden' in its name and Filch's corporal punishment fetish.

"At last, it is time to eat," he finished merrily, and with a wave of his hand, platters upon platters of food appeared at every table. Ron was undoubtedly the first person to fall on the food, nearly inhaling things around him as if he wasn't properly fed at home. Hermione knew this was not true, but she was still astounded by how much he could fit in his mouth at once.

As for her dinner, she chose a sliver of pot roast and some green beans, along with pumpkin juice to drink. It was a small meal, but she wasn't feeling too hungry that night. Maybe it was the excitement of the new school year, especially of her new Healing class. She couldn't wait—two hours every other day, working on things she liked best, like preventative charms, diagnostic spells, medicinal potions. She smiled widely to herself as she finished the last of her pumpkin juice.

It was about twenty minutes later when Ron pushed his plate away and sighed contentedly. "I'm worn out," he yawned.

"Me too," Harry agreed, tossing his napkin on the table. "Should we head back to the common room?" Ginny and Hermione nodded in agreement, and the four of them were soon up and meandering towards the entrance.

It was then Ron stumbled slightly.

"Can't afford shoes that fit, Weasel?" a dry voice quipped. They turned to find Malfoy seated at the Slytherin table, smirking as if he'd invented the facial expression himself. Crabbe and Goyle were seated beside him, both chuckling darkly and rather stupidly. "Or are they just hand-me-downs?"

Ron growled, but before he could get a word out, giggles erupted from the older Slytherin girls around them. Malfoy cast the giddy ones a somewhat disturbed glance, and Pansy seized the opportunity to wink at him.

Needless to say, Harry, Ron and Hermione were shocked beyond words—but Ginny understood immediately. "Tell me you're not sixteen, Malfoy," she practically groaned.

His smirk faded a bit. He probably hadn't expected a reaction along those lines. "I am," he admitted suspiciously, "but I don't marry blood-traitors."

"Marry?" Harry interrupted questioningly. "Who said anything about marriage?"

"Sixteen is the age of consent in the wizarding world," Hermione muttered to him absently. "But I don't know why—"

"It doesn't matter anyways," Malfoy cut her off. "I'm not planning to marry until I graduate from Hogwarts. And it won't involve any of you," he added.

"Thanks for that," Harry dryly said.

The Slytherin scowled, but before anything else could be said, Hermione was tugging on Harry's sleeve. "Let's just go," Hermione said in her most sensible voice. "It's too early to start a fight, even if it is with him."

The four turned to leave, but Hermione froze when she heard Malfoy's voice say, "Disappointed, Granger? Sorry it would never work out between us, but you see, you're a mud—"

He never finished his sentence. Hermione moved so quickly, it seemed like she Apparated beside him, her wand pointed directly between his eyes. Malfoy froze, and so did everyone else at the table. "Listen to me," she seethed. "I would never marry you. Not if you were the last person on the face of the earth. You're a conceited prat with a God-complex, and you would be lucky to find one single person that would marry you and make you happy."

" 'Happy'?" he said, his smirk returning despite the wand aimed at his forehead. "No one marries for happiness, Granger."

"That's because they don't know what happiness is."

She stated it simply, like a fact. His smile disappeared again, and then she turned on her heel and left the Great Hall with the other three following faithfully behind.

Draco watched them go with a scowl. Bosh, he knew what happiness was. It was the feeling he had right now, of utter dominance, of power. There were currently six or seven girls seated around him that were willing to do anything for him. And he was happy, damn it.

He turned back to face his plate, furiously severing his pot roast slice into tiny pieces. What right did Granger have to say anything like that? To even suggest it? He had always reserved a special place in his heart for the loathing of the infamous Gryffindor three, but he had never been this offended by their comments. No, not the three, he corrected himself. It was just the girl's fault this time. The other two were bumbling idiots, but she was a bloody know-it-all. He'd get her back for this.

Pansy tapped his shoulder. "Draco?"

"What?" he grumbled, fixing his glare in her direction. She flinched, but plastered on a smile fast enough to hide her startled face.

"I just wanted to know if you'd like some boiled potatoes."

"No, thank you," he replied stiffly, stabbing the a bite of pot roast several times before he could finally pick it up with his fork. Half-way to his mouth, the fork froze. He wasn't even bloody hungry any more. Merlin and Agrippa. Disgusted with himself, he threw the utensil down and rose. "Excuse me, but I think I'll go back early," he announced before marching away.

Pansy pressed her lips tightly together. It was the beginning of a habit.


	3. Chapter III

Thank all of you for the support! Here's the next installment, which has a little bit more conflict

**Chapter III**

As luck would have it, the very first class of the day was Defence Against the Dark Arts, a class shared by Gryffindor and Slytherin. The three Gryffindor friends stumbled into class with matching faces — resigned ones. The fact that they had to attend DADA with their least favourite professor and their least favourite yearmates led Hermione to believe that someone up there really hated them.

Hermione, Ron and Harry sat in the back of the classroom and tried to be discreet. Most of the Slytherins were already there, shooting the Gryffindors threatening glares and laughing malevolently. Hermione's eyes stumbled upon Malfoy, who was watching a smirking Pansy in the next row. Hermione nudged Harry and motioned towards the pair.

"Look at Malfoy. It's like he can see through Pansy's robes or something. Disgusting."

Unfortunately, Hermione was right in more ways than she knew. Draco could see through Pansy's robes. It was a spell he had discovered over the summer, and as he was quite bored, he had decided to experiment.

"Everyone, take your seats," a voice murmured quietly, and Draco released the spell just as Professor Snape quickly strode to the front of the classroom. "We will be practising non-verbal spells today," he announced. "I trust you've already done the reading." A great deal of the class looked puzzled, but no one dared to speak up. "Good. Split into pairs and begin."

Ah, 'pairs.' The arch-nemesis of the Gryffindor Trio. They exchanged pitiful looks, trying to decide which of them would fend best on his or her own. Unfortunately, they had no choice in the matter when Snape approached and interrupted their ritual. "I said pairs, Mister Potter. I trust you can count?"

"I can, sir," Harry said quietly, his fist clenching passively at his side.

"You could have fooled me," Snape replied lazily. "Miss Granger, you may form a pair with Mister Malfoy to practise."

Her jaw dropped as her new partner glanced over with a frighteningly cruel smile. "Professor, are you sure —"

"Now, Miss Granger." With a resigned face that Draco suspected she practiced at home, Granger shuffled over to join him. Snape once again returned to the front of the classroom. "Does everyone have a partner?" The class was silent. "Very well, you may start whenever you wish."

The two students faced each other, and quite on accident, Draco's eyes locked with hers. He was surprised to see that they were a rather average shade of brown. He had always thought they were coloured red, like blood and brimstone and other unpleasant things one often associates with gruesome death and fiery hells. But they weren't. They were a dull, mud colour. Fitting, yet entirely disappointing.

"Do you want to start?" she said politely, though her frightening glower gave her intentions away.

To be honest, Draco was rather terrified by the look on her face. The last time he saw her this angry, she had slapped him into next Tuesday. Even thinking about it made his cheek sting. And this time, he hadn't really done anything to provoke her (yet). But he put on a brave face — no mudblood was going to intimidate him. "Ladies first," he replied, just as politely.

She didn't trust herself to reply to that, so she merely took a duelling position. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"_Impedimenta_!" she cried out, whirling her wand expertly. Draco focused as hard as he could while he thought, _Protego_!

Her spell didn't hit him, and he beamed. "It worked," he told her proudly.

"Don't break your arm patting yourself on the back," she mumbled, but Draco ignored her grouching and got into a ready position of his own. She waited for him to cast the spell, but he seemed to be frozen. They stood in the ready position for almost a minute, and Hermione's fingers were beginning to cramp from grasping her wand for so long.

Finally, Malfoy said, "Saywhaifyoready."

"What?"

"_Impedimenta_!"

Hermione panicked, but manage at the last moment to focus and successfully cast the Protection Spell. After a brief silence in which she examined herself for any injuries, she turned to glare at Malfoy. "You did that on purpose!" she accused.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Point being?"

"That you're a bloody prat."

"Oh Merlin help me," he said, feigning hurt. "How shall I ever recover from such a cruel attack on my person?"

Hermione gripped her wand tighter and took a challenging step forward. "I'll show you a cruel attack, you —"

"Stop your shrewing this instant, Miss Granger," Snape interrupted as he stepped between them, his face a mask. Which is why Hermione almost gagged trying to hold back her laughter. Because, honestly, shrewing? Did he think he was Will Shakespeare or something? She actually considered asking him that, but chose to live instead.

"Granger's being a twit," Malfoy declared, pointing at her heatedly.

She bristled. "Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am —"

"Silence!" Snape barked. "Before I give you both detentions!" The pair clamped their mouths shut, though their frowns gave the impression that they were somehow continuing the argument mentally. "Continue practicing nonverbal spells until you get it right."

"I already got it right," they both said together. Then they glared at each other.

"Then keep doing them," Snape replied, trying not to groan.

Suddenly, there was a shout behind them, and Malfoy ducked just in time to avoid Harry's body as it flew overhead, crashing into the wall behind him.

"What the hell?" Malfoy spat, although he was a bit paler than usual.

Hermione was already running over to help her friend recover. The Boy-Who-Lived was looking a little worse for wear from the fall. He was giving a rather good impression of a charmed snake as he sat up, with his body swaying from side to side.

Snape watched this with a quirked eyebrow, then he turned to face the direction Potter had come from. A red-faced Weasley was standing there motionless, his mouth forming a surprised circle. Well, that explained it. "Weasley, stop staring and assist Potter to the infirmary."

The red-head pulled himself out of it and ran to help his friend. Between Hermione and Ron, they managed to pull Harry to his feet and keep him steady as they made their way to the door to bring him to the Hospital Wing.

"Miss Granger, where do you think you're going?" Snape's voice oozed from behind them. The three halted awkwardly, and Hermione turned to give her professor a questioning look.

"I was going to help Harry —"

"You are not dismissed. In fact, you will be demonstrating nonverbal spells with Mister Malfoy to help the rest of the class. Since you're so proficient at it," he added snidely. Hermione glanced over at Malfoy, who gave her a very pert grin, and she let out a low growl. Beside her, Ron stared. Since when did Hermione growl? Ever?

"Fine." She turned her burning eyes to Ron and muttered, "Take him to Madame Pomfrey. I'll be up soon."

Ron gulped in response. She pulled Harry's arm off her neck while the black-haired boy whispered, "Good luck."

"I'll be up soon," she repeated. She pulled out her wand and grinned suddenly, as if she had gone crackers. The red-head nervously backed Harry into the corridor and relative safety.

"Did you hear that growl? I thought she was the level-headed one," Ron whispered, trying to glance through the window in the doorway. "I don't know if the git will make it out of this one alive."

"Fantastic," Harry panted. "Now, could you help me to the hospital wing?"

"Oh, right mate." Ron repositioned Harry's arm over his shoulder and tromped towards the East Wing, leaving Hermione to fend for herself. It really wasn't as terrible as it sounded, though, because Hermione knew more magic than the charms encyclopaedia.

Indeed, she seemed to be handling herself rather well as she took her place across from Malfoy. Her jaw was clenched a bit tight, but it was hardly noticeable. Malfoy had on his trademark smirk and was exuding as much confidence as he possessed, which happened to be a lot more than he deserved.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked them. Neither so much as flinched. "Right. You may begin."

Daringly, Malfoy cast the Impedimenta first, but Hermione easily blocked and sent a Stunning Spell right back. He also countered it. "Very good," Snape smirked.

But they didn't stop there. Malfoy cast a charm that Hermione deflected, and it struck him right in the chest. His robes burst into false flames.

"Eeaaaaaaaaah!"

That had been the blond's scream, effeminate at best. The class burst into hysterics and Snape was too ashamed to call them to attention. Even Hermione's anger couldn't stop her from laughing.

"Sorry Malfoy, I didn't mean to make you scream like a girl," she sniggered, wagging her wand at him playfully.

He glowered at her, patting out the remaining flames. "I do not scream like a girl," he said hotly, while simultaneously thinking, _Lumos! _His wand tip immediately lit. He blinked, then grumbled, "Ah, hell."

Hermione took her chance: _Petrificus Totalus!_ and Malfoy's body seized as if he had just jumped into an ocean of ice water. He tumbled backwards and fell into a rocky heap on the ground. Leisurely, she made her way over to him, a sly smile on her face. "You do to scream like a girl."

Draco was glaring up at her as best as he could. He was mortified. The rest of the class was watching with large grins plastered on their faces, and Draco knew news about their fight would be all over the school as soon as class was dismissed. This was not going as well as he had planned. He was supposed to win, to show everyone that he was better than her. And yes, maybe he was still a little bit angry about what she said at dinner, but that was beside the point. Purebloods did not lose duels to mudbloods.

It was then Draco realized that the wand he had clutched in his frozen fingers was aiming straight at her. He thought of the first spell that came to mind, the Trip Jinx. Hermione's feet flew into the air, and she landed right beside him, which undid the Full-Body Bind she had cast on him.

"You'll pay for that, Granger!" he snapped, climbing laboriously to his feet. She was doing the same, glaring at him with what looked like a lust for blood, but it didn't faze him. He simply sneered, "Ready to lose?"

"No, I'm just getting started," she growled back, tugging her sleeves up to her elbow. Draco's smug look all but flew from his face and a split-second later he was hit with Hermione's jinx.

It was the Tickling Jinx.

And he was very, very ticklish.

He doubled over, shrieking with laughter. His pale face turned a frightful shade of, for lack of a better description, tickle-me pink. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. Was he serious? She had never seen him laugh like this, ever. Hermione took a cautious step forward and nudged him with her foot. "Malfoy? Are you okay?"

He shook his head, unable to control his vocals. So, he fought back in the only way he knew how — he tackled her. Hermione screamed as he brought her to the ground and pinned her arms with his knees. Still laughing manically, he began to drag his fingertips up and down her stomach as well, since there was no way he'd be able to cast any kind of spell in his state. Soon she, too, was crying with laughter.

At this point, the entire class had stopped its merriment and watched interestedly as two mortal enemies had a tickle-fight. To be fair, it isn't everyday you see the two top students of Hogwarts engaging in something four-year-olds did with their mums. Snape himself was feeling rather sick. He hadn't meant to let this fight degrade into . . . dear Merlin, it couldn't be flirting. Banishing the thought as quickly as he could, Snape flicked his wand and ended the Tickling Jinx on Draco, which surprised the boy enough to make him stop attacking Granger.

"Get off, Malfoy," she growled, shoving him off her stomach as violently as she could.

"Watch it," he snapped back, kicking back her leg angrily.

"Back to work, all of you," Snape barked to the rest of the class, which reacted as if they'd been following Imperius orders. Granger and Malfoy were still arguing pettily, but it halted as soon as Snape drew himself up to his full height. "A detention to both of you," he murmured darkly. "I cannot believe the top two students of this year would stoop to such undignified quarrelling in the midst of a class."

"She started it," Malfoy declared immediately. Hermione scowled.

"I do not care which of you started it," Snape retorted. "This Saturday at six, you will both come to my office and serve your detentions."

Both of the students gave exclamations of horror. "But Gryffindor and Slytherin have a preliminary match that day!" Granger pleaded.

"I'm the Seeker!" Draco added.

"You both should have thought of that before engaging in childish quibbling," he barked back. "For the rest of the class period, I want you two to sit at that table and do absolutely nothing." He pointed to a table in the corner, far away from any other classmates. "If I see either of you try anything, I will deduct house points."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "I can't even work on my —"

"Is the concept of 'nothing' beyond you, Miss Granger?"

She bowed her head in defeat. "No, Professor."

"Good. Now go, both of you."

Silent, Hermione followed Malfoy to the table, and they both sat down as far away from each other as possible, glaring at each other coldly. An eon later, when the bell rang, Malfoy finally said, "Madame Pomfrey wanted to see you, Granger. I forgot the rest, but your mother is a whore."

She twitched slightly, containing the urge to leap across the table and strangle the life out of him. When the fancy passed, she allowed herself to say, "Please, Malfoy, I don't know why you've suddenly decided just to torture me, but if you enjoy living, I'd suggest you stop." She rose and gathered her things as quickly as she could, while he chuckled to himself.

"Very nice, but if you want to get on my good side, you'll have to try a little harder."

"Thanks for the warning." With a smirk — yes, Draco's very own trademark smirk — she hefted her bag onto her shoulder and stalked out of the classroom.

He scowled after her, wondering how on earth she had ever managed to make any friends with that attitude.

* * *

Yes, a tickle fight. ^^ I couldn't help myself; it seemed to work so well. Special thanks to pstibbons for the edit. Please review!


	4. Chapter IV

Well, seeing as how _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ hits theaters at midnight tonight (w00t!) I knew I just had to post a new chapter. Unfortunately, not much happens, but it's necessary to explain the class. Enjoy!!**Chapter IV**

* * *

Since she was heading to the Infirmary anyways to check up on Harry, Hermione decided to see what Madame Pomfrey wanted with her. Assuming that Malfoy hadn't said that just to get under her skin. Honestly, she wouldn't put it past him. She didn't know why he was being so underhanded this year. Not even a week had passed, and they already fought enough to earn them a detention, with Snape no less. Simply thinking about it made her flush with anger, but she put her feelings on hold as she approached the Hospital Wing doors.

Hermione entered and her eyes immediately fell upon Harry, who was lying in bed with a pack of ice on his forehead. Ron was apologetically hovering nearby. As Hermione made her way over to them, Madame Pomfrey burst from her office.

". . . and another thing, Mister Weasley — when practising, it's best to give your partner a fair warning before you cast any sort of spell."

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled. It sounded stale. He'd probably been saying it for awhile now.

Madame Pomfrey peered over Ron's shoulder as Hermione discreetly stepped inside the room. "Ah, Miss Granger," the nurse greeted her. "Please join us. I have to speak with you as well about the Healing class, but I assume you'd like to visit Mister Potter first."

So Malfoy hadn't been lying. That was a first. "Yes, thank you," Hermione replied politely, moving closer to Harry's bedside. She could see he was awake, and not too happy with the amount of attention he was receiving.

"I'm fine, Madame Pomfrey. Can I please go now?"

"I haven't checked for a concussion yet," she snapped waspishly. "Now would you please sit down, Mister Potter!" She all but shoved him back into the bed, and he pouted like a five-year-old denied ice cream at a birthday party.

"Hullo, Harry," Hermione said awkwardly after the nurse bustled away. "Er, good to see you're feeling better."

"I'm fine," he repeated, almost insisted. Then he turned his eyes to her. "But how about you? Did you beat Malfoy?" Ron snapped to attention and nodded in approval, obviously wanting to hear the answer as well.

Hermione coughed, hiding the slight flush in her cheeks. "Er, well, that depends on what you mean by 'beat.'" The boys stared at her blankly.

"What?" Ron asked.

Hermione was at a loss for words. "To put it simply, it was a . . . tie." She pondered that statement for a moment, then decided it was basically true. After all, both Malfoy and she had landed themselves in detention during the very first week of school. So they were both the losers.

Oh, right, detention. She might want to mention that.

"We both have detention with Snape this Saturday," she added, rushing over her words a bit.

"What?" Ron repeated, but it sounded less like an interrogative sentence, and more like a what-the-hell-that's-our-first-Quidditch-match sentence.

"I know, I know, I'm really sorry. If it's any consolation, Malfoy won't be the Seeker for Slytherin that day, so it will be even easier to beat them."

Harry laughed nervously while Ron's face turned a brilliant shade of purple.

In the meantime, Draco was shuffling back to the Slytherin common rooms flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. He'd just had a proper scolding from his Potions master, and he almost felt that he deserved it. Honestly, tickling Granger in front of the entire class? The thought made him nauseous; he didn't know what had come over him during the fight. He had just gotten so fed-up with her and her goody-goody, 'oh-look-at-me-I'm-Hermione-bloody-Granger' attitude. Aloud, he grumbled something about stupid mudbloods before he heard an apologetic cough from behind him. He glanced around only to find Pansy nervously watching her feet.

"Hm?" he prompted absently, hitching his bag further onto his shoulder. She seemed to blush a bit as he frowned at her curiously.

"Er, Draco, I was wondering," Pansy said hesitantly, "well, really, I wanted to know if . . . if you would be my boyfriend."

His mind immediately began to spin. The Malfoy Estates were worth a good 130.2 million galleons, plus all of the financial holdings and investments, bringing the total to about 736.98 million galleons. His family owned a little over sixteen million acres of property in England, France, Spain, Portugal, and Germany. The Parkinson family was also an old name, though a bit poorer, coming to a total of 397.51 million galleons. Most importantly, however, was a large amount of property in the Americas, as well as in southern Africa and China, where his father was looking to buy. What's more, Pansy's family was well-known for its investment in charms, something the Malfoy family was sorely lacking in.

All of these numbers and facts clicked into place, and he smiled in a beguiling way. "Crabbe, Goyle, take my bag back to the Slytherin common rooms with you. I'll catch up later." They did so without hesitation, though their faces were etched with it, and they turned towards the dungeons. Pansy's worried look turned into a satisfied one, and when Draco offered his arm to her, she took it without pause, pulling it close to her chest.

"Thank you," she whispered, a hint of excitement laced into her words. His smile widened pleasurably as they made their way to the nearest empty classroom. Pansy made sure that the passersby knew the couple's intentions, and that Draco Malfoy was now hers and hers alone.

Of course, the three Gryffindors knew nothing about this. They were still in the Infirmary, raving to each other about Snape's unfairness and Malfoy's bastardish-ness.

"He probably did it on purpose," Ron concluded, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair as if he'd just solved a murder. Hermione was sitting on the foot of Harry's bed, while Harry was lying back on the pillows, trying to look like he was following Madame Pomfrey's instructions to rest. "Hell, he probably talked Snape into it himself."

Harry and Hermione laughed, even though Ron was completely serious (which was the sad part). "I'm really dreading the detention, though," Hermione admitted after a beat. "I don't know what Snape'll make me do. It will probably be something horrible, like disembowelling frogs or squeezing the pus out of flobberworms or —"

"Let's face it, Hermione: the real punishment is spending time with Malfoy," Harry interrupted.

"Agreed," she said with a smile.

Madame Pomfrey approached the group with a piece of parchment. "Miss Granger, are you ready to discuss the Healing course? I have the class syllabus and other materials that you need for tomorrow."

"Right. Of course."

"Follow me, then." Madame Pomfrey led Hermione into her office, a place the girl had never seen before. It was a bit cramped, but orderly. Hermione took a seat in the chair across from Madame Pomfrey and found it to be surprisingly comfortable. The mediwitch pulled out a few slips of parchment and a crisp-looking book. "Here is the class syllabus," she said as she slipped the parchment over. "Because healing involves cooperation above all else, you will always be working with at least one other person at all times, and sometimes in larger groups. There will be a rotation so you will end up working with every student in the class at one time or another."

Hermione found herself more and more engrossed in the description of the class. There were seven others in the class, making two from each house, and every other week, they would be paired with a different person. This was to practise teamwork, even with people you may not get along well with, Madame Pomfrey had said. After talking about the class, Hermione's new Professor pushed a textbook over to her.

"This is the textbook we'll be using in class. I'm sorry the title didn't appear on the list for your school supplies, but I didn't select a text until yesterday morning. Because the class is so small, the Headmaster agreed to purchase the textbooks for the entire class. This one belongs to you."

Hermione lifted the book and read the shimmering letters: _Healing Magic and the Modern Wizarding World_. "Thank you!" she said eagerly, her eyes roving over the book the same way that Malfoy had ogled Pansy earlier. With a smile, Madame Pomfrey allowed her to join her friends, making sure to tell her that Potter was released from her care as well.

When she rejoined her two friends outside, they both raised their eyebrows.

"Did Madame Pomfrey give you the key to the library or something?" Harry asked. "Your smile is almost scary."

"Sorry, but I just got the syllabus and text for the Healing class, and it looks perfectly amazing! I can't wait until tomorrow!" If possible, her grin widened. Then, as an afterthought, she said, "Oh, Harry, I almost forgot. Madame Pomfrey said you're released now. We can head back to Gryffindor Tower, if you like."

"Excellent!" Ron said. "Let's go back to the room and see if we can fit in a game of Exploding Snaps before bed."

Harry nodded his agreement, but Hermione was a bit more hesitant. "I don't know . . . I've been awful tired today, especially after that duel with Malfoy. Maybe I should get to bed early . . . ."

Ron interrupted her. "Hermione, please, we know that you're going to stay up all night to finish this book."

The three of them all laughed heartily and pranced off together into the sunset. (This last part didn't actually happen. Instead, Hermione rolled her eyes and told Ron to sod off. It did not go over well.)

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If you guys are seeing the show at midnight, HAVE A GREAT TIME!!!!!!!!!! I know I will. XD (Ps. Please review kthx)


	5. Chapter V

It's finally here! The first day of class. I hope you guys like this... and keep your eyes peeled for some more P&P characters.

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**Chapter V**

It had come. The first day of class.

Hermione arrived precisely seven minutes before the period began and started to seat herself near the front of the room when Madame Pomfrey stopped her. "I have prepared a seating chart, Miss Granger," she said, holding up a piece of parchment. "Your seat is the back corner."

The back corner? But Hermione Granger did not take the back corner seat in any class, ever. She longed to protest, but Madame Pomfrey had such an expectant smile on her face, Hermione found she couldn't. Disappointedly, she picked up her things and retreated to her assigned seat. Oh well, the class was still going to be fun, of course. She'd just have to enjoy knowing the answer to every question while she was in the back.

A few more students walked in — she recognized Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, and there was Cho, the girl from Ravenclaw Harry fancied. Madame Pomfrey still hadn't seated anyone next to her, however.

Then, the impossible happened.

Draco Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy, waltzed into the classroom as if he owned it.

She whirled in her seat to hide her shocked face. "Malfoy got into this class, too?" she thought to herself angrily, busying herself with her quill so she wouldn't have to look up. _Of course he got in your class_, her mind admonished. _He's one of the brightest blokes in your year._ Hermione supposed her mind was right. One of the requirements for the class, after all, was an O in Potions, and he definitely had one — he could do Potions as easily as he could do Pansy Parkinson.

Which happened to be very easily.

So why was she surprised?

Well, she wasn't really surprised, she admitted to herself, jabbing her quill into a well of ink. She was more . . . hovering between livid and apoplectic, whatever that was called. Infuriated, maybe?

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw him make a move to sit on the opposite side of the classroom from her — thank you, Merlin — but Madame Pomfrey spoke up. "Mister Malfoy, your seat is the one right in front of Miss Granger."

Both of them gaped at the professor. She may as well have said, "Mister Malfoy, please go snog the panties off of Miss Granger," because both sentences were completely unwelcome and completely ridiculous.

He did not protest, though. "Yes, Madame Pomfrey." He repositioned his bag on his shoulder and strode over to his new seat, where Hermione was intently focusing on the date she'd just written in the corner of her parchment. Malfoy set his book bag down, and she heard him murmur softly enough so only she could hear, "At least I don't have to sit with the mudblood."

She scoffed as he took his seat. He was just trying to frustrate her.

. . . It was working.

"Git," she grumbled. He may or may not have heard, but saying it made her feel better all the same.

Draco did hear it, and it made him smile. He had thought DADA would be the only time he could torment her, but this class would be the best place to do it — after all, Potter and Weasel weren't here to back her up. He remembered the group projects that Madame Pomfrey had explained to him with a jolt of anticipation. Ooh, so many options to get revenge then . . . sabotage, deceit, treachery. He cackled inwardly. If she wanted a war, Draco Malfoy would give her a war.

The last student walked into class, another Gryffindor girl, and Madame Pomfrey had her sit next to Draco. He vaguely hoped she wasn't like Granger. "Now that everyone's here," the new professor began, "Let's begin the discussion of chapter one. Take out your books, please."

There came the unmistakable noise of unbuckling book bags, the shuffling of parchment, as everyone pulled out their copies of _Healing Magic and the Modern Wizarding World_. Hermione noted that hers was looking much different from everyone else's. It must've been the unnatural amount of coloured post-its sticking out of its pages.

Madame Pomfrey thus began asking her questions, and no one in the room was surprised that the so-called 'discussion' transfigured into a conversation between the new professor and Hermione Granger, with intermittent hand-raising and recitation.

Draco felt his mind wandering to more important matters, such as his new girlfriend. He had told his father about the match in a letter as soon as he had the time, and Lucius had heartily approved, acknowledging the Parkinson family's assets in a very becoming fashion. Although it was still a bit early to be planning a wedding, Lucius had admitted, he would begin to have talks with her father to see if the arrangement would work. So Draco began to perform the duties of a gentleman, escorting her to classes, sitting beside her at meals, and dealing with her endless babbling. He found out quite quickly that she really never expected him to reply with more than the occasional nod. It suited him fine.

"While we're on the subject," Madame Pomfrey said loud enough to interrupt Draco's daydreaming, "can anyone tell me why there is no cure for the common cold?" Granger's hand shot into the air once again. It was probably genetic, Draco thought complacently. "Miss Granger?"

"The reason there is no cure for the 'common' cold is because there are actually thousands of different types, so our bodies don't have time to become immune to all of them," she recited.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but that is incorrect." Hermione's jaw dropped. Half of the class' did as well. Hermione Granger . . . wrong? Surely hell's temperature had dipped to an all-time low. "Would anyone else care to try?" As she sat sputtering in a corner, Draco seized the opportunity to raise his hand. "Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

"It's a trick question. There isn't a cure now, but there was one. It was lost when the library in Alexandria burned down."

Madame Pomfrey beamed at him. "Correct. Ten points to Slytherin."

Oh, yes. He had just outsmarted Hermione Granger. In front of a teacher, no less. Draco wanted to say something positively unctuous to the mudblood, but he kept it in check and instead gave Granger a very smug smirk.

Hermione glowered back. He was making that face again. The face that said, "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am." That face. She responded by sticking her tongue out at him. Not very mature, but that wasn't her biggest concern at the moment. Malfoy didn't retaliate; his face rearranged itself into a bemused look, and he focused his attentions back to the front of the classroom.

This confused Hermione immensely, as it was meant to.

"That's it for the first chapter. Now, I would like you all to turn to the person sitting beside you and introduce yourself. This person will be your partner for this week's classes and the next." Hermione obeyed, although her mind was still pondering Malfoy's smile. She absently shook the hand of the boy beside her.

"I'm Blaise," he offered, very politely, and Hermione turned to him and gave him her full attention. He was tall, she realized first. Very, very tall. His legs were curled under his seat, in an almost self-conscious manner, and he hunched over to hide the fact that he was dwarfing his partner. But she also noticed that his smile was quite genuine. Especially for a Slytherin.

"My name's Hermione," she returned kindly. She was suddenly very glad that Madame Pomfrey had seated them together. He looked like the kind of person she could get along with very easily.

Draco could not say the same about his partner.

"Lavender Brown," she had said immediately. "Like the colours, you know." He had to bite his lip to halt a sentence that would have been very insulting. She had the kind of voice that made it sound like she was perpetually chewing gum, whether she actually had some in her mouth or not. It made him want to choke her. "You're Draco Malfoy."

"Very insightful."

She giggled. Dear Merlin, no.

Madame Pomfrey chose to speak up at that moment. "Your first project begins today, and will be due at the end of the second week. You and your partner will research ways to alleviate the symptoms of a cold through spells, potions, and any other means. You will prepare one method and bring it to class, where you will demonstrate the solution on a sick student or faculty member. The speech should be five minutes long, introducing the history of the spell or potion, what symptom it masks, how it's cast or made, and any problems you may have encountered. We have about six minutes left in class, and you may use that time to discuss any ideas with your partner."

Draco sorely loathed his new professor. Only an ignorant bint such as herself would have sat an of-age wizard with a Gryffindor harlot. He reluctantly turned to listen to her prattling. It was relentless, he soon found. She simply didn't need to breathe. Or maybe it was just the speed of her lips moving up and down that caused the words to form, rather like the buzz of a gnat comes from the sound of its wings. Indeed, the girl was like a gnat, in the sense that gnats always seem to hover about your face and zip past your ears, annoying the hell out of you. Except she wasn't as easy to swat away, and her girlish babble was a lot more annoying than a monotonous buzzing. Draco found himself wondering what it would've been like if he had been paired with anyone else in the room. Even Granger couldn't be this bad.

He glanced behind him and found Granger talking at a furious pace while Blaise watched in mild fascination, probably not catching a word. Okay, maybe she wasn't better. But it was really a toss-up, and that was saying an awful lot.

". . . and then maybe we could, I don't know, get together sometime soon and work on this project just to get it properly done, if that's okay with you, of course."

"Of course," he repeated, not really paying attention.

"Great! What time should we meet?"

"What?" The hell?

The girl pouted in an attempt to be cute. She failed something terrible. "You said that I could come and work with you."

"I —"

Madame Pomfrey, much to Draco's pleasure, chose this moment to dismiss the class. "I will see you all in two days. Please read the next two chapters and write an essay comparing the benefits and setbacks of using porcupine quills in healing potions." Lavender packed up surprisingly quickly, but when she caught Draco's eye, she mouthed, "Owl me." He tried not to retch.

Hermione and Blaise, on the other hand, had worked out a study schedule already and decided to meet the next day in the library to research together. "It was nice meeting you," she told him honestly, and he sheepishly smiled back. "I'll see you tomorrow after lunch, right?"

"Right." They parted with a mutual contentment. Hermione drifted down the hallways with Lavender at her side, both heading towards Gryffindor Tower.

"How did your first day go?" she asked politely.

Lavender proceeded to gush about Malfoy's good looks for the rest of the walk, hardly stopping to breathe, while Hermione mutely took in her every word. 'Charming'? 'Polite'? They hardly seemed to be appropriate, especially considering the bits of their conversation she had heard. 'Fit' wasn't as far of a stretch. Although the willowy look wasn't Hermione's favourite, she knew other girls that had declared Malfoy a perfect specimen. And, admittedly, his teeth were rather nice. She supposed being the daughter of two dentists had influenced that view. All in all, however, Hermione was rather at a loss. It seemed that Lavender's only concern was Malfoy himself, not the class, nor the project. When the girl paused to take a breath, Hermione ventured, "But what do you think about the class? Aren't you excited?"

"Excited?" Lavender giggled in surprise. "It's a class, Hermione. Of course I'm not excited about it."

This came as a shock, simply because Hermione never considered taking an extra course she wasn't interested in. Divination came to mind. "Then why are you in this class?" she asked blankly.

"The boys, duh. A witch like me should marry a smart guy, preferably with money. All the boys in our class are smart and somewhat wealthy because of the requirements for the class. Draco's by far the best, though — and the richest. I'm so glad he's my first partner." She said 'partner' like it was a dirty word. Hermione wondered what she was thinking about, but decided rather prudently not to ask. "Too bad he's dating Pansy," Lavender said as an afterthought.

"He is?"

Lavender gasped. "What rock have you been under? Only the entire school knows about it!"

"Sorry," Hermione said back sarcastically. "I didn't know it was my job to keep tabs on the prat's relationship status. It's not like I didn't expect it though. She's been hanging all over him like it's her job."

"You know, it's queer," Lavender began, completely ignoring Hermione's remark, "but I think that he likes someone else entirely."

"Poor girl."

"Rich girl," she corrected. Then she smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

The two entered the common room at that moment and parted ways, Lavender climbing to her room while Hermione joined Ron, Harry and Ginny on the couches. As soon as her classmate was out of earshot, Hermione burst into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny?" Ginny inquired, looking puzzled.

"Just Lavender being herself," she replied with a smile.

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Please review!


	6. Chapter VI

Ah yes, the next installment. I should warn all of you (my dear, dear readers) that I am going on foreign term at the end of the month and I will not be posting for a whole ten weeks (which is long, even for me). I'll post another chapter before I leave, but this story won't be finished for a long while. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news!

But, without further ado, chapter six.

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**Chapter VI**

The next few days passed by in a whirl of schoolwork, and Hermione was more thankful than ever that Blaise was her partner in Healing. Not only was he a pleasant person, but she had never had a companion that did his (or her) fair share of work, not even Harry or Ron. She wasn't looking forward to switching partners at all, simply because there was a slight possibility she'd be matched up with her mortal enemy.

Whom she was seeing in less than twenty minutes for detention.

She could remember this only with shame. Really, she shouldn't have let Malfoy get to her so badly, but he had just been so unusually nasty, she could hardly check her temper. Hermione finished dinner early and, with a sad sigh, left her three friends to attend detention. Harry and Ron were especially disappointed that she was missing the match. "Who's going to cheer for us now?" they'd sighed dramatically. Okay, maybe they weren't that upset, but they still gave her a tight hug before she pulled her book bag onto her shoulder and bravely set off to the dungeons.

When she rounded the final corner, Hermione saw Malfoy and Pansy hovering close to Snape's door and faltered. Neither seemed to notice her, so she hung back, knowing that they probably wanted to say 'goodbye'.

"I'll see you soon," Pansy said lustily.

"Sooner than you think," he said, rather foolishly in Hermione's opinion. She fought back a snigger. He then lowered his mouth to hers and they kissed.

Hermione had bought a frame for her mother's birthday that past summer. It was a lovely wooden one, with intricate leaves carved into the border. The insert was a picture of two models on a forested path. It was a sepia-and-white shot, but Hermione could tell that the models were both beautiful people, made up and stunning in their designer jackets and knitted caps. They were kissing in the picture, their lips tight and a hint of a smile around their closed eyes. Although she liked the picture, Hermione found the kiss to be completely unbelievable. No happy couple would take the time to pose like that, with their heads perfectly positioned, only their good side showing. But she knew it was just for show, just to look pretty. That's exactly how Malfoy and Pansy looked, kissing in the hallway. Too perfect. As if they were acting for an invisible camera. Hermione made no attempt to hide her eye-roll. After a few seconds, she decided she'd seen enough.

"Sorry to interrupt," she called from down the corridor, sounding anything but apologetic.

Pansy pulled away abashedly, while Malfoy looked disdainful. "Ah, here comes the mudblood now. Seems to ruin everything she runs into, doesn't she?" Beside him, his girlfriend sneered.

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy. Imagine what would've happened if Snape'd caught you."

That wiped the smirk off of his face, she noticed smugly.

"I'd better go," his girlfriend put in, pecking him once more on the cheek before she scurried down the corridor.

Draco didn't notice her departure; he was still burnt up from the mudblood's last comment. Why was it that Granger could get under his skin so easily anymore? She hadn't even really said anything about him, and yet he felt that he should hex her a thousand times over. Before he could do so, however, Snape burst through the dungeon door, scaring them both.

"Good, you're both on time. Come in and I'll explain what you're to do." He re-entered his room without sparing them another glance, and the two students scrambled to follow him deeper into the dungeons. "You'll be polishing the classroom set of cauldrons, without magic. The cleaning supplies and cauldrons are ready for you in the back room. Take them into the main classroom and polish there. You're not to leave until each cauldron is finished."

He had them stop before the supplies closet, which he unlocked with a rusting key. Inside were thirty silver cauldrons, all sorely in need of a polishing. Draco deflated, his hopes of getting out early dashed. Snape loaded his and Granger's arms with the cleaning supplies while he levitated the cauldrons into the empty classroom, setting them on the back tables. Granger dumped her supplies on the first desk (probably out of habit).

"I will be at the match. When I come back, all of these should be polished and sitting at the front table. Are their any questions?" He said it in a way that discouraged any inquiries. "Good. Get to work." With a swirl of black robes, he was gone.

"Oh jolly," Draco commented dryly. "Instead of playing a boring game of Quidditch, I get to scrub rusting cauldrons for the evening." He spilled his cleaning supplies over the desk next to her and took his seat. Without glancing Draco's way, she quickly gathered her things and moved to the exact opposite of the room. Draco smirked. This was going to be more fun than he originally thought.

Hermione angrily thought that this was going to be worse than she anticipated. He was purposely trying to get her to snap at him, but she would not give him the satisfaction. _Mind over matter_, she told herself as she began to furiously scrub the pot, imagining his smug face at the bottom.

After she finished her first cauldron, she made sure the classroom door was closed before arranging the cleaning supplies into a make-shift prop. Hermione reached into her bag for the book Ginny had given her. It was magically linked to Neville's Omnioculars so she could watch the game while she was serving detention. She opened the book to find that the game had already started and the two teams were tied, ten to ten.

"Bullocks," she muttered.

"What?"

She had forgotten that Snape had set the dirty cauldrons on the back table, and that Malfoy was a mere three feet away when she cursed. He was peering over her shoulder before she had the chance to hide the book.

"Is that the game?" he asked in shock — but his shock quickly turned to slyness. "Granger, I had no idea you were such a rebel."

"Bugger off."

"Don't you know how to share?"

"Don't you know how to listen?"

His smile widened. "I think I'll join you. I wouldn't mind watching Potter lose."

Malfoy pulled up a chair as she scowled at him fiercely. "Fat chance," she shot back. "Harry always catches the Snitch. He has a great eye."

"If he did, he wouldn't have picked you as a friend." She didn't reply, as Ron had just gotten heinously fouled by Vaisey while Madame Hooch's back was turned.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?" she screamed at the book. "FOUL! FOUL!!"

"How did you get this?" he asked as he began to scrub his first pot absently.

"Ginny made it for me. It's charmed to show what Neville's Omnioculars see." To Hermione's surprise, he didn't make a smart-assed remark.

"That was righ – GO URQUHART, GO!"

"COME ON RON! STOP BEING SO BLOODY SCARED!"

Slytherin scored yet again, and Malfoy took a lap of victory around the room as Hermione tried to encourage Ron by shouting at the top of her lungs.

They got through a great deal of the cauldrons that way — shouting commands at the book together and loudly complaining when something went wrong. Of course, they never agreed on calls aloud, but Draco was secretly impressed that she had such a knack for the game. Pansy, of course, knew nothing about Quidditch except for what he had told her, and she didn't seem to desire any further knowledge. But Granger, unsurprisingly, had researched the game thoroughly because the other two parts of the trio were so heavily involved in Quidditch. Every tough call she had gotten right, and she even knew the history.

"Barbaric, that," she had mentioned during their discussion of the use of Snidgets before Snitches were invented. "Using an innocent bird in a game." Draco caught himself agreeing a bit too cordially, so he interjected, "Didn't muggles use animal skins for balls, or something?"

"I didn't say that was alright, either," she huffed, glancing up at the game. Then she screamed, "Merlin!"

"What?" Malfoy snapped, freezing in mid-scrub.

"They found it! They spotted the snitch!"

"Already?" He leaned over her shoulder and scoured the book's page. "Where, where?"

"Right there. YOU CAN DO IT, HARRY!" The two seekers zoomed in and out of the frame in tandem, first one in front, then the other, following a tiny speck of gold in the dark storm.

"HARPER, DON'T LET SCARHEAD TRICK YOU! GET THE BLOODY SNITCH!"

The seekers both swooped into a dive. . .

"FASTER, HARPER!"

. . . they were neck and neck. . .

"YOU'RE ALMOST THERE, HARRY!"

. . . ten feet from the ground, Harry reaching out. . .

"COME ON!"

. . . and then everything went dark. Neville had dropped the Omnioculars.

"YOU WORTHLESS GIT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Malfoy shouted at the book.

"NEVILLE, PICK THE BLOODY THINGS UP!" Hermione screeched.

"NO! NO! DON'T WIPE THE DIRT OFF, SHOW US THE GAME!"

"I DON'T BLOODY CARE WHAT DUMBLEDORE'S DOING! SHOW THE SNITCH!"

And then Neville did.

Oh, how Hermione wished he hadn't.

The Slytherin team was clustered around Harper, tossing him into the air. Judging by the faces some of the Gryffindor team members were wearing, the Slytherins probably weren't chanting anything kind. Harry was off to one side, shoulders slouched, head drooping like a puppy after a good scolding. "No, oh no," she muttered, frowning in sympathy. They'd lost the game.

It was a real shame Malfoy was there. She had almost forgotten about him, until he opened his mouth. "I picked my replacement myself. He's not as good as I am, but I knew he'd still be able to handle Potter." When she glared at him, he simply smirked.

Now, to be fair, deep down she knew that the Quidditch results were out of her and Malfoy's hands, but remember that Rational Thought and Hermione were no longer on speaking terms since the DADA Disaster. At that particular moment, she was wondering what kind of punishment the school gave out for murder. Maybe she could plead temporary insanity. Or maybe she'd just argue that she was doing the world a favour. All she would need was a few good character witnesses against him. No jury in the world would convict her.

She must have looked frightening, because Malfoy began to inch backwards in his seat. "Er, Granger, are you alright?"

"No, I'm not. How kind of you to ask." Her jaw was clenched tight, and her large brown eyes could've turned Malfoy to stone. "Do you know why?"

Draco scooted back another inch or so. She had scared him during DADA with a glare, but this one was different, because last time, Snape was there to protect him from harm. Today they were utterly alone. "Why?" he replied as kindly as he could, hoping it would calm her.

"Because you have incessantly bothered me since the first day at Hogwarts, tormenting me, making fun of my friends, and ruining by best class just by your mere presence. All of this, with no cause at all, as if you've just decided to destroy my life for your bloody entertainment! Why won't you bugger off and leave me alone?"

The words rushed through his mouth before he had a chance to stop them: "Because you deserve it." After he said it, he winced, turning his face away from her and holding up his arms to protect him from the inevitable screeching and/or maiming. Hell hath no fury like Hermione Granger scorned.

But nothing happened in those few moments. Cautiously, he turned back to gauge her reaction. She was eerily quiet, but Draco fancied he heard something snap in that head of hers. Something called sanity.

"Draco Malfoy," she growled suddenly, ferally. Her hair seemed to bristle. Or maybe it was always bristled — it was hard for him to say. "Draco Malfoy, this is war." She snatched up the book and her bag in one movement and stormed out of the room, not even caring about finishing her detention.

He was jumpy the rest of the day. Granger was smart, resourceful, and — above all — she was royally hacked off. Draco expected her around every corner, and even while he was sitting in the common room (his back fairly close to the brick wall) he didn't feel quite safe. Pansy had tried to surprise him a bit earlier by covering his eyes and doing the 'guess who' bit, but she didn't even get the sentence out before he burst free of her hands and whirled, ready for the duel of his life.

"What's wrong with you?" she had asked him, surprised but otherwise unfazed.

"Oh. Sorry Pansy." He had replaced his wand and let out a shaky sigh. "I thought you were . . . someone else."

"Do you need to talk about it?"

"No," he replied, a bit quickly. "Let's just finish up studying."

She pressed her lips together tightly, but complied without another word on the subject. They were still studying together even now, but Draco could only think of a certain bushy-haired girl that was out for his blood.

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Muahaha... now things are starting to get interesting. Please review!


	7. Chapter VII

This is it, then. The last chapter before I'm gone for ten weeks. I hope you guys enjoy it, and I'll try to post one as soon as I get back.

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Chapter VII**

"I couldn't believe he said it," she fumed to Ron and Harry. The three were sitting in the Gryffindor common room that Saturday evening — after the Quidditch Game of Discontent and the Detention from Hell. Ron and Harry had described their evening to her, and now they were listening to hers. "I don't deserve to be put down every waking moment! No one does! And now I'm in a bloody class with him, Mister Draco Holier-than-thou Malfoy!"

"Why don't you drop out?" Ron wondered aloud.

Hermione smiled at him forcefully and replied, "Why don't you wander off a large cliff?"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, exasperated.

"Well you both know that I'm interested in this class more than all the others!" she cried fretfully. "It's just so difficult — I don't want to be with Malfoy any more than necessary, but I need to stay in this class."

"Then stay in it," Harry said to her firmly, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "If he bothers you, you can ask Ron and me for help, but you shouldn't let Malfoy scare you. I know you can handle the likes of him."

This cheered Hermione up considerably, and she said goodnight and marched up to her room in relatively high spirits. When she opened the door, she was greeted with giggling. Lavender and Parvati were sitting under the cover of Parvati's four-poster curtains. Hermione would have been able to ignore their stage whispers, if she hadn't heard Lavender say her name and Malfoy's in the same sentence.

"Draco always talks about Gryffindor girls and how ridiculous they are, especially — and don't mention this to her — Hermione. He told me she was ugly, and proud, and just overall undesirable."

Parvati gasped while she giggled. "Ugly? She's not ugly, she's just a bookworm! And she's not proud in a bad way!" Both the girls giggled again. Hermione wondered if they were always that ridiculous, or if they kept a supply of laughing gas under the bed. She was suddenly fed up about their 'private' discussion and shut the door a little loudly. The four-poster's curtains whizzed open almost instantly.

"Hermione!" both the girls greeted in a shocked and rather comical fashion.

"Oh, I didn't know you two were here!" she lied, convincingly acting surprised. The other two girls exchanged relieved glances, but their conversation took a far more innocent turn as Hermione got dressed for bed. She was happy to find that the little piece she overheard hadn't affected her. Sure, being hated by someone wasn't exactly exuberating, but the fact that it was Draco Malfoy took the sting away. If he hated her, it was probably because she was doing something right instead of wrong. She fell asleep with that thought in mind.

The next day was Friday, and classes all but flew by. Madame Pomfrey announced the presentation schedule for the coming Monday, allotting each group a full twenty minutes to talk. Her and Blaise exchanged grins — everything would be perfect. Just as class ended, they agreed to meet in the library after dinner, just to work out the kinks and practise their speech.

So she was surprised when Lavender exited the Great Hall with her after dinner. "Are you going to the library?" Hermione inquired, puzzled.

"Yup. Draco and I have to work on that project." The girls agreed to walk together and, after Hermione snatched an apple as a snack, they set out.

"Are you and Malfoy almost finished with it?" Hermione said to make conversation. The girl beside her snorted.

"Are you kidding? We haven't even started working yet."

"Haven't started?" This statement escaped Hermione. She couldn't fathom it. Not starting a project early was like . . . like not planning a birthday party and just _telephoning people over_.

"How's your project going?" Lavender asked politely as they came through the library door.

Hermione was still a little weak from the other girl's casualness, but she managed to reply in her library-whisper, "Great, actually. Blaise and I have met almost every day this week to work on our project. We should finish it tonight."

Lavender raised her eyebrow mockingly. "You know, it isn't a coincidence that studying has the word 'dying' in it. You're killing your social life."

"Thanks, Lavender," Hermione dryly replied.

Hermione found Blaise rather quickly, in the back corner of the library where talking was allowed. "Hullo Hermione, Lavender," he said, grinning. "I think Draco's a bit further down that way, looking for books. He was going to sit here by us to work, if you want to leave your book bag here." He motioned to a nearby table, where both of the boy's things were spread out.

While Lavender smiled and acquiesced, Hermione began to grow faint. Sharing a table with Malfoy? It was some sick joke. He hated her, and he must've known she was coming, so why would he sit with them? Or maybe he wanted to bother her. Well, he was doing a bloody good job of it.

"Malfoy's sitting with us?" she burst when Lavender was gone. "Why?"

Her partner frowned a little. "We ran into each other in the library and I asked if he wanted to sit with us. He is my friend."

Well, this was news. "Hang about, you and Malfoy? But he's a —"

"Boy I've known since I was seven?" He shrugged at her helplessly. "He's always been nice to me. And I know you two don't get along very well"— she snorted —"but I know you can handle him."

There was that bloody phrase again. Like she was some kind of dragon-tamer or something. "Fine," she found herself saying. "As long as he doesn't provoke me too much."

Blaise smiled. "Thanks."

He owed her his life for this little stunt.

Lavender's giggle warned them of the other pair's approach. Malfoy came into the clearing first, looking strangely ill, but Lavender either hadn't noticed or didn't care. "You're so funny, Draco," she gushed. He then caught sight of Hermione, and what was initially a queasy green immediately turned to the most ghastly pale she had ever seen, including Sir Nicholas. "Truce!" he shouted.

After a moment, she agreed, "Truce."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Okay, let's get to work," Blaise exclaimed, rather suddenly. The suggestion seemed to work, and the four of them settled into a quiet, albeit somewhat tense, work session.

It was too good to last.

"This is boring," Lavender sighed, pushing her second book away and dramatically leaning back in her chair. The others tried to ignore her, but with her constant sighs of weariness, it was becoming harder and harder to do so. After a particularly martyred groan, Hermione lost it. She slammed her quill on the table, causing the boys to jump, and hissed, "What, Lavender? What is it that you want to do?"

The sly smile that Lavender gave her made Hermione wish she hadn't said anything at all. "How about a game? How about . . . truth or dare?"

Malfoy interrupted their spat by groaning loudly. "No, I refuse to play that."

"Then what do you want to do?" Lavender asked him coyly.

"I want to finish this bloody project and then I'm going back to the dormitory."

"You're no fun," she pouted, but with a hint of a smile.

Draco was having a hard time keeping his temper in check. All he wanted to do was throttle this chit mercilessly so he could get some peace and quiet, but he was sure that Blaise and/or Granger would jump him before he got the chance. It was a damn shame.

So he just ignored her, and enjoyed a short but blissful two minutes of silence before the girl threw her quill down and said, "I'm finished."

He glared up at her for all he was worth. "Brown, you'd better be joking if you think —"

She interrupted him with a laugh. "I mean that I've finished the research. Here." She tossed him the parchment she had been writing on, and it would be an understatement to say he was surprised. He was levelled. They had been here for maybe forty minutes and she had just presented him with what looked like hours of research. He figured that this was probably the reason she had gotten into an advanced course — she was fast. In more than one way.

"You said you wanted to finish it, right? There's the research. You write the speech and we'll call it even. I've got to go."

It was very rare for him to be rendered speechless, and this time was no exception (though it was cutting it close). "You've got a date, haven't you?" he asked wryly.

"Don't worry. We've decided not to be exclusive." She winked.

Only Lavender Brown could admit to dating one boy and shamelessly flirt with another in one breath.

Hermione and Blaise watched this scene with mutual fascination, but secretly, Hermione was glad that Malfoy let Lavender pack up her things and leave. It meant that she and Blaise could finally work without interruptions. And so they did, much more rapidly than she had even expected, with only one brief stoppage. (When she was thirsty, she caught sight of a glass of water. "Whose drink is this?" she asked before she sneezed. Malfoy wrinkled his nose and said, "Yours, now.") So, she and Blaise practised the speech in hushed voices, mimicking what they would be doing in class, and they still finished before the library was closed.

Blaise stretched his arms over his head wearily and asked, with a yawn, "What time is it?"

"Nine forty-three," Hermione promptly replied as she capped her ink bottle. She nearly spilled it when Blaise exclaimed, "Merlin! I've got to go!" He shoved his belongings in his book bag, but hesitated when he saw that not only was Hermione beginning to pack up, but so was Malfoy.

"Sorry, Hermione, but I was supposed to meet someone fifteen minutes ago. Will you be okay cleaning?" He asked this pointedly, casting a glance at Malfoy while the other boy's back was turned. She understood that he wanted to know if she'd be alright with Malfoy.

"I'll be fine," she reassured him. "You go ahead, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled at her briefly before rushing out of the library, to what she assumed was the Slytherin House. She watched him go wistfully, as if he were her last bit of sanity making a run for it, because only insane people spent any amount of time alone with Malfoy.

"Are you going to help me, or are you going to stand there like you've been petrified?" asked the bane of her existence. She turned to find him stacking up the library books on the table before scooping them into his arms. "Carry the last two books and make sure no one gets in my way. Madame Pince will have our heads if we don't give her these by ten."

"You didn't say the magic word," Hermione grumbled.

"Oh, fine. _Imperius_."

She scowled at him, but (darn him) did what he had commanded anyways. They soon set off, with her in the lead.

The library was one of the biggest rooms in the entire school, and Draco used to like that — the privacy, the peace and quiet. But now that he had to trek through bookshelf after bookshelf with none other than the Queen of Bookworms, he found himself hating its vast size more and more. He didn't want to talk to her, lest he say something foolish and incite another duel, so he just glided silently by her, trying to be as intimidating as possible so she wouldn't try to start a conversation. Two hellishly long minutes later, they were at the front desk, returning the books to Madame Pince and bidding her goodnight.

If only he could say the same to Granger. But no, they hadn't had the extra hands to carry their book bags, which were still waiting for them in the back of the library. On some kind of unspoken arrangement, the two set off together in silence. Draco was keeping up his haughty attitude, but apparently Granger had decided she was done ignoring him. "Are you excited for your project?"

"Nope." He didn't reciprocate the question, and she didn't speak to him again until they had found their book bags and were about to part ways.

"I'm going this way," she said. No shit, Granger. He looked up in order to sneer an insult along those lines, but froze. His eyes had accidentally met hers. Draco's stomach suddenly plummeted about three feet and came to rest in his shoes. It wasn't because she was glaring at him, but she was looking at him . . . almost pleasantly, and he found himself unable to stop staring. The colour of her eyes hadn't changed at all; still that ugly, mud-brown Draco hated so much. But in that moment, there was something about them, something intelligent and lively that he had never seen before. It stunned him, to say the least.

"Malfoy?"

He tried to say a snide remark, but he felt like he had eaten a spoonful of peanut butter, locking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He simply couldn't look away.

"Are you alright? It looks like something's bothering you."

_Yeah, it's you_, he thought bitterly, but he couldn't say it aloud, what with the peanut butter phenomenon, so he merely forced himself to scowl and nod.

"Fine. I know how important your beauty sleep is to you, so I'll just go now." She broke eye contact with him and Draco heaved in a lungful of air as if he had just surfaced a large body of water.

_What the hell was that all about?_ he asked himself.

"Good night," she said, as if it were a swear. "And the truce is over as of tonight." She turned on her heel and left. Draco watched her go, his nose crinkling in confusion, fright, and a bit of disgust. The disgust was with himself. How could he even look at her like . . . like that? Something was wrong, dreadfully, horribly wrong. Maybe this class wasn't such a great idea.

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Acutally, now that I think about it, this is a pretty good place to leave you guys hanging. That being said... PLEASE REVIEW!!! Hope you all liked it!


	8. Chapter VIII

So I'm finally home! What a trip! It was great, I highly recommend travel to everyone, etc. etc. Okay, now for the part that you've all been waiting for. I hope the wait was worth it!

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**Chapter VIII**

_Draco, I will not allow you to drop this class. If you find yourself having troubles with studies, quit Quidditch instead. School work comes first._

_Lucius_

Damnation. Draco crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it next to the torn envelope it had come in. The day had gotten ten times worse. He'd be presenting his project with Brown in a few hours time, and then he'd be switching partners — and he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to veto Madame Pomfrey's decision, whatever it was. Bugger.

His owl, Fitzwilliam, gave him a look of dignified pity before he nipped at Draco's finger for a treat. "Alright, you bloody thing. Here." He tossed the bird a hunk of sausage and shooed him off the table. Pansy was sitting beside Draco, contentedly cutting up a small stack of pancakes. "So I take it your father won't let you drop out of Healing?" she asked.

"Don't remind me," Draco groaned dramatically as he cradled his head in his hands. "It's bloody awful! He said I have to quit Quidditch if schoolwork is too much. I can't do that!"

Pansy tutted, rubbing her hand over his back in soothing circles. "You'll be fine, Draco. You don't have to drop anything. If you fall behind in Healing, Blaise would be more than happy to help you study."

Right. He hadn't told his girlfriend the true reason he was trying to drop out of this class. He'd used the same story on her as he did on his father: that he was having a hard time balancing classes, Prefect duty and Quidditch. After all, if he had told Pansy the truth (namely that he hadn't stopped thinking of that night in the library when he'd met Granger's eyes, and that he found he didn't truly mind this as much as he'd wanted to) she'd probably use it as blackmail for the rest of his natural-born life. And, considering a family history of longevity, that would be a long time. "Thanks, Pansy," he mumbled, and continued eating his breakfast, though for the briefest of moments, he snuck a glance at the one girl whom he really wished he could stop thinking about.

Hermione Granger was blissfully unaware of the new sentiments blooming in Malfoy's heart; indeed, she still loathed the very idea of a partnership with him. Yet the class approached, and she carried a nagging, foreboding suspicion that they'd be paired together. "Best to get it over with," she assured herself, though the ominous twist in her stomach distracted her more than once from the lessons that day.

It was with a great trepidation that she found herself seated next to Blaise, absentmindedly flipping through her note cards and wishing fervently that she would be partnered with someone reasonable. Madame Pomfrey started class with a good afternoon, and then she outlined how each group would present. "You and your partner will not present together, however," she said slyly. "Instead, you will present your findings to your new partner. Our eight patients are waiting in the back room for their cure, so signal to me that you have finished your presentation and I will bring one in." At this moment, a roster appeared in her hands.

"Miss Chang has decided to give up her position in this class, but she will be partnered with Miss Brocklehurst today. Then, on Wednesday, we will have a new student, and he will be Miss Brocklehurst's partner." Cho blushed slightly at the stares while Madame Pomfrey announced the next pair, Ernie and Susan. Hermione knew that Cho was still having a rough time in school since the end of fourth year, and pitied her.

"Mister Zabini, you will partner with Miss Brown." The two, since they were already seated so closely, smiled in acknowledgement at each other, though Lavender was already making her new partner uncomfortable with something she whispered to him.

But Hermione's mind was on other matters. If Blaise was paired with Lavender, then that meant —

"Miss Granger, you will be paired with Mister Malfoy." Merlin. She managed to contain her sigh and instead stole a glance at Malfoy. If he was angry at the partnership, he didn't show it. His face was calm enough to resemble a marble statue's, paleness and all. She smirked inwardly at that.

Draco was indeed disappointed, but for reasons entirely different. He was dreading the partnership because he was finding her not as grating as he had before. Inwardly, he promised himself not to be forgiving with his insults any longer. If he continued thinking of her in an even remotely pleasant way, he was afraid he'd be in danger of forgetting her crimes against his person. And there were plenty, he added hotly (though he couldn't think of one at the moment, because he had caught her eyes on him once again).

"Now, please meet with your new partner and prepare your presentations. I will be walking around to assess how well each group did." The class began to shuffle around and switch seats. Some seemed willing to go, others not. Granger was the slowest of all. She repacked her bag as if she would never see each article again, and her feet dragged across the floor. When she sat, however, her eyes were alight with rebellion as she said, "Wow, this chair is so cold. Just like your heart."

Draco scowled at her, but found he had no retort. So he continued scowling as she pulled out her cauldron and a small amount of ingredients. His own presentation was a simple spell that alleviated the sniffles, but that left him with little to prep for—and idle hands are the Dark Lord's hands. He cast one of his favourite hexes while she reached deeper into her bag.

"Ow!"

"What?" he asked, playing innocent.

"I just cut my finger on my parchment!"

"Then don't."

It was her turn to scowl, and it cheered him up infinitely. Draco, one; Granger, nothing. "Do you want to present first?" she asked curtly, but he shook his head no. "Fine." She straightened her note cards on the table, cleared her throat, and began her speech.

"The Drying Potion," Hermione stated clearly, "can be traced back to Rome in 1800 BCE. It was used to keep salt dry during transportation from one part of the Roman Empire to the other. Only recently has it been adapted to help alleviate the symptoms of a cold." She began to describe the process of making the potion, which she had practiced enough to do without thinking. Hermione used this time to study Malfoy.

Something about him was off. He wasn't interrupting her speech like she had expected him to, nor was he staring at her disdainfully. His gaze was more careful, more . . . thoughtful. It was absolutely unnerving, almost as bad as being verbally abused.

She finished her speech and pulled out the vial of potion to give to a subject, but Malfoy seemed to have snapped out of his stupor. "That was all wrong. You can't use that potion to dry out the sinus."

"Of course you can," she snapped. "We've researched it for two weeks, almost every day."

Though his face was impassive, she could just tell that he had been plotting this the entire time. "But it's ridiculous. Why would it work?"

"We tested it ourselves, Malfoy. It works."

"Are you sure?" he pressed, his smirk finally revealing itself.

Hermione threw her hands in the air. "Yes! Why are you arguing with me?"

"Why am I not arguing with you?" he snapped right back.

Wow. What a great conversation. Hermione quietly fought the urge to smack him upside the head. "Malfoy," she began instead, "just start your presentation before I curse you!"

"Miss Granger, please," Madame Pomfrey interrupted, stepping up to their table with a frown. "I don't want to hear another threat come from your lips today!"

Hermione bowed her head in submission and muttered in the affirmative. Malfoy was about to laugh when the professor turned on him. "You, Mister Malfoy, are also to blame. When the two of you enter my class, I want you both to be civil with other classmates, and especially your partners."

"Civil?" he said distastefully, as if even pronouncing the word caused him pain.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey insisted. "Civil. And I don't want either of you calling each other by last name. Given names only in this room, please."

That marked the first time in Draco Malfoy's life that he shared a sympathetic glance with a mudblood. About halfway through it, both of them seemed to gather their wits and turn away — but the strange occurrence still wriggled its way into Draco's subconscious, right next to his unacknowledged preference for her bright eyes.

Bugger him sideways.

Madame Pomfrey ordered him to present, and he did so mechanically, while Granger busied herself with her quill and ink, taking cramped notes as he spoke. Eventually, the professor saw fit to move to the next group. It was then Draco leaned in closer to Granger and whispered, "You'd better not use my first name, ever."

"Why ever not, Draco?"

He slapped his hand on the desk in front of her, drawing her eyes up. They were irritated. "I mean it," he hissed. "Don't."

"As long as you don't use mine," she countered as she returned to her notes. "And by the way, Malfoy. . . ."

"What is it?"

"You've, er, got something on your cheek." She motioned absently to the right side of her face, glancing up almost shyly. Draco hesitated for a moment, then quickly mimicked her movements. "Is it off?"

"No, just a bit further down — there, like that. Right. It's gone."

"Right." He paused once more before launching back into his lecture.

Hermione quietly congratulated herself as Malfoy spoke of his spell's history. He hadn't realized that when he slammed his hand down, he'd unwittingly dipped his fingers into a small bit of ink she had dripped onto the table in her haste. If she hadn't remembered the war, she would have told him about the blue all over his fingers . . . but she _had_ remembered.

Hermione smiled.

Malfoy, zero; Hermione, one.

He finished his speech a few minutes later, a bit short of the requirement, but otherwise without flaw. They then both raised their hands, signalling for their test subjects, and Madame Pomfrey retreated into her office. The first student she sent out, naturally, was Neville. Hermione knew full well that Malfoy would rather hex Neville than cure him, so she claimed the boy. Malfoy just shrugged and began to scribble some notes.

Madame Pomfrey sent out the other patient then. He was a boy Hermione didn't recognize, and was instantly sorry she didn't. Judging by his robes, he was a Ravenclaw, probably a few inches taller than her, with such a pleasant smile she found herself blushing for no reason. Where Neville's cold seemed to ravage his entire body, this boy only had a pinkish nose. "Hello, Neville," she began when the former arrived at the table. "And hello, er —"

"Mathias," he supplied gallantly. "And you must be Hermione."

"Yes," she giggled (oh Merlin, he had her giggling now) before she pointed to her partner. "This is Mal —" But she realized she needn't bother. When Mathias turned to introduce himself to Malfoy, the strangest thing happened: Malfoy paled considerably, and even began to tremble, though it was with rage and not with fright. He managed to look impressive even with the smear of blue on his cheek. Mathias, on the other hand, reddened down to the roots of his hair (sandy brown) and his fists tightened at his side. The tense silence was only broken up by Mathias' curt nod, which Malfoy only just returned.

"I see you two know each other already," she supplied. Malfoy snorted, but Mathias seemed to recollect himself.

"Yes. We grew up together."

Another awkward pause.

"Well," Hermione said brightly, "we're supposed to help relieve you two of your colds. I'll be treating Neville. Mal"— Madame Pomfrey turned to stare —"er, Draco will treat you." When she said his first name, all three of the boys stared as well, but Malfoy's maliciously triumphant smile revealed itself almost instantly. "Er, I'll go first," Hermione said pointlessly, confused. She handed Neville the bottle and instructed him to drink the whole thing.

He gulped it down. The change in him was apparent when he finished; he stood straighter and, despite a few coughs from the dryness of the liquid, seemed to breathe easier. "Did it help?" Hermione asked excitedly.

"I . . . yes, it did! Thank you Hermione," he added sincerely. He almost skipped out of the room, though after he stumbled a few times, he decided to play it safe and walk.

Then it was Malfoy's turn.

It's hard to say what exactly happened. Malfoy rose, she remembered distinctly, and held his wand at arm's length. Mathias paled a bit, but held his ground. One minute, he was standing, his lips moving as if in silent prayer. The next moment, he was on the ground, writhing as boils sprung out on his face and hands. Hermione screamed. Madame Pomfrey materialized beside them.

"What happened?" she asked Malfoy. He looked deathly pale, his eyes wide and frozen. _All an act_, Hermione thought with sudden anger.

"I - I was . . . I was trying to do the spell, that's all. I swear," he stuttered.

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips. "Clear up that hospital bed while I levitate him, Miss Granger," she said instead, and Hermione obeyed automatically. Malfoy stood in stunned silence while the professor examined Mathias. "This hex is Dark Magic and isn't allowed here at Hogwarts," she said as she pulled out her wand. "Whether it's an accident or not, you're to have a week's detention with me, Mister Malfoy. Is that clear?"

To Hermione's surprise, he didn't protest.

"Mister Badeau is replacing Miss Chang this Wednesday." Hermione and Malfoy both started at that pronouncement, though Hermione felt herself much happier than Malfoy looked. "I hope by that time," the professor continued, "you two boys will have worked out your differences so that this rivalry doesn't interfere with my class."

Malfoy paused, then agreed with a low, "Yes, Madame Pomfrey."

"And by the way, Mister Malfoy, you should wash the ink off your face before you leave," Madame Pomfrey instructed.

He grabbed a nearby metal tray to see his reflection, then glared directly at Hermione.

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Thanks for reading, and remember to review!


	9. Chapter IX

Every time I edit a chapter, I remember how much I love this story. Here's the next chapter, so everyone enjoy!

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**Chapter IX**

Hermione approached the Gryffindor table for lunch on Wednesday looking brave. She wore a red t-shirt under her robes, just in case her hand slipped with her quill and she made Malfoy bleed all over. Accidentally, of course.

"Why do robes have to be dry-clean only?" she sighed as she primly sat on the bench.

"Planning on getting them dirty with Malfoy?" Lavender giggled.

"You could say that," she replied blandly, fingering her butter knife.

Harry gave her an odd and rather disconcerted look, asking, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but you heard about what he did to the new student in our class, haven't you? Madame Pomfrey gave him a week's detention for it. Just thinking about it makes me want to hex him."

Ron started to chortle, but Hermione silenced him with a look. "It wasn't funny, Ron. It was awful."

"Aw, come on, Hermione. Malfoy's got detention now, and the other bloke's fine."

Her eyes, her traitorous eyes, swivelled to the Ravenclaw table and sought out Mathias. He was sitting with Anthony Goldstein, and both were laughing about one thing or another. The boils didn't leave any marks, and he looked just as pleasant as ever. Mathias, apparently sensing her appraisal, caught her eye and smiled. Hermione coloured, then turned away. She'd never reacted to anyone this way before. Even Ron, whom she fancied at one point, never made her flush just by smiling. In fact, the only time he made her flush was when they were arguing. Hermione, being self-aware, knew that falling in love at first sight was a silly fantasy, but she did know that getting to know Mathias Badeau would be rather agreeable to her. And, possibly, she could make another invaluable friend.

"Earth to Hermione! Come in, Hermione!"

Merlin, she regretted teaching Ron that joke.

"What?" she asked in resignation.

"I asked if you've thought of a way to get Malfoy back yet for the DADA incident."

"I —" she paused a moment while her eyes lingered on the Hufflepuff colours, then she smiled. "Yes, actually. I have." She patted her bag, where a potion she had made as extra credit for Slughorn's class lay in wait. Using a little wouldn't hurt . . . .

Draco had his eyes on her when she smiled, and it made him even more sullen. She was probably talking about Badeau. The bastard. Just thinking about Monday's class made Draco want to saunter over to Ravenclaw table and seriously maim Badeau and all his other little friends via every hex and curse he could think of at the moment. Fortunately for the bastard, Millicent distracted Draco with a question about his other problem. "So, Draco, how is class with the beaver?" she prompted snidely. "I heard about the ink fiasco on Monday." Everyone else must've heard about it, as well, since the table erupted into laughter.

"Leave poor Draco alone!" Pansy cried playfully. "He's having a hard enough time working with a mudblood, aren't you?"

"Of course. She's absolutely intolerable. The only upside is that she's willing to do all of the group work."

"Hang about, Hermione isn't that bad," Blaise interjected. "I found her to be polite, and extremely helpful."

"I'll bet," Theodore chimed in, and he made a crude gesture that made Blaise frown and the others laugh harder. "I, for one, will be the first to congratulate Draco on making it through an entire class period with her. There must be absolutely no upside to the match."

"None at all," Draco concurred, "excepting her eyes."

The mirth immediately stopped, and all the eyes at the Slytherin table turned to him as if he were insane. Upon review of his last sentence, Draco didn't blame them. Maybe he was insane.

"What about her eyes?" Pansy finally ventured.

"Nothing really," Draco said smoothly, hoping his mortification didn't show. "They simply amuse me, as they perfectly resemble a beaver's." The stupider Slytherins at the table guffawed, but Pansy and a few others exchanged smiles that Draco didn't like. He busied himself with bread and butter. He couldn't believe he'd just mentioned her eyes to all of his friends in Slytherin. Spending time with Granger was becoming dangerous. He'd have to find a way to convince the others that he didn't fancy her. Because he didn't. He didn't fancy her one bit. She was annoying and self-righteous, and stubborn as hell, and always pointed out every little thing he did wrong. What on earth had possessed him to mention her eyes, even if he liked them?

Oh, hell.

He actually liked her eyes? What was wrong with him? Was Pomfrey slipping things into his potions when he wasn't looking?

_Calm down_, his mind ordered, and he took a deep breath. There was no need to panic, really. Admitting that her eyes were a wee bit fetching was no where near a declaration of undying love. Besides, her personality would keep him from liking any other part of her. The thought was comforting, and he managed to finish his meal without making another odd declaration about Granger.

The bell signalling ten minutes until the next class rang just as Hermione was finishing her meal, so she quickly wiped her mouth and grabbed her book bag. "I'll see you boys later," she told Harry and Ron as she headed for the door. It was then her foot caught on some invisible obstacle and she tumbled to the ground, her books flying everywhere. Hermione saw Malfoy grinning at her when she glanced up.

"Have a nice trip?" he smirked.

"Why didn't you write?" she snapped back, but despite the calm exterior she was keeping up, inside she felt desperate. Having her class partner pick on her all the time was ridiculous. She didn't know whether to break down and cry, or tackle the prat and make _him_ cry. But a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her from doing either.

"Why don't you leave her alone, Malfoy?" Harry said.

"Yeah," Ron seconded. It was his hand on her shoulder, and he helped her to her feet as Harry stared down Malfoy. The latter just sneered, completely shameless, and continued to his class, kicking some of Hermione's books aside as he went.

"What a bleeding git," Harry muttered under his breath. He and Ron went to fetch the books that had fallen further away while Hermione scrambled to gather everything at her feet. As she reached for the last parchment piece, another hand got to it first. She glanced up and her eyes met with Mathias'.

"Er, hullo," she replied gawkily.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione blushed immediately. She wasn't used to this kind of attention, except maybe from Harry (but he didn't really count—he was a worrier). "I'm fine. Just a bit, er, angry."

They both rose, and he handed the paper to her. "I was wondering if you would like to walk to class together," he asked politely. "That is, if you're heading to class." The Ravenclaw glanced to her right, where Ron and Harry were watching the conversation from a distance.

"Oh, no, I-I was walking to class. They have a different class to go to." Harry, taking the hint, grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him back to the table, allowing Hermione to leave with her new acquaintance.

To her surprise, she liked him more and more as the conversation wore on. He was well-spoken, and bright, and he laughed at her awkward joke about Hagrid's rocky treacle. Combined with his looks, she fancied him to be quite a catch.

_Breathe, and stay reasonable_, her mind whispered. _You're not in love yet_.

Nevertheless, she found herself in high spirits when she entered the classroom. Then, as she laid eyes on her new partner, her spirit immediately sank. Damn Draco Malfoy to the fiery pits of hell.

Draco smiled at her and watched the glow in her eyes change to a fire. He was oddly pleased at this, but chose not to think about it too much.

"How was lunch?" he asked her mock-innocently.

She ignored him, and his smirk widened.

"Quiet down, class. Today we will be practicing the proper procedure for examining patients, which I trust you all read about." Draco hadn't, but that wasn't anything new. "We will practice this on our partners for two days. Today, the boys will be the patients, and the girls will be the mediwitches. The roles will switch the next class."

Each student moved leisurely towards their designated stations chatting idly with their partners, but Hermione wouldn't even look up from the floor. She imagined that Malfoy was smirking like mad and plotting a way to get her back for the ink (right on both counts).

"Now that everyone is at their station, who can tell me what the first step for an examination is?"

Mathias raised his hand. "The mediwitch or -wizard should ask the patient to disrobe."

"Correct. Ten points to Ravenclaw. Now, mediwitches, please have the patient remove his robes."

Malfoy sent a condescending smirk in Hermione's direction before he started to unbutton his robes. He made sure to do it slowly, too, probably to raise her hackles. She counted to ten in her head. When that didn't work, she fantasized about hexing Malfoy ten different ways. It was much more effective, and by the time he was tossing his robe over his chair, she was feeling in control.

Draco was having the time of his life. Not only did he not have to pretend to pay attention, but he was also embarrassing Granger without even trying. "The student being treated should lie down on his stomach," Madame Pomfrey continued from the centre of the room.

Draco turned over obligingly. "Granger," he whispered with a smirk on his face, "I know what you're thinking, but my arse is off-limits to filth like you." She replied by elbowing him in the small of his back, and he yelped in surprise.

"Miss Granger, what happened?" Madame Pomfrey demanded, obviously alarmed at the sudden noise.

"Nothing, Professor. Ma – er, Draco was just playing the part." He would've protested, but he was in too much pain, so he nodded along, massaging his back in a forlorn sort of way. His poor, poor kidney. It was probably crying right now after that savage beating. He glowered at her when Madame Pomfrey turned away, but Granger glared right back.

She knew that he was making this hard for her, so Hermione put up with his antics as best as she could, knowing full-well she'd get him back as soon as Madame Pomfrey instructed them to administer a dosage of false-medicine. It didn't take long, and it was simple for Hermione to switch the 'medicine' with her potion when the professor's back was turned.

"What's taking so long?" Malfoy complained. What a prat. She held up the spoon threateningly, as if to hit him, but he only rolled his eyes. "Oh no, a blunt object."

"Oh, shut up." And she poured out his dosage, attempting to act casual. "Open wide, Draco," she said mock-sweetly, and he grudgingly swallowed the entire spoonful.

Success. Another point for Hermione.


	10. Chapter X

Merry Christmas, everyone! And happy other holidays as well. Next chapter should be out in time for the new year! Hope you like this one.

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Chapter X

She began to feel guilty when Madame Pomfrey had to flue for extra medical attention from St. Mungo's. It turned out that her potion had been a bit on the strong side, and instead of spitting out bees, Malfoy would spit out hornets whenever he spoke. And they were angry hornets.

Almost everyone in the class was stung, but Malfoy naturally faired the worst. His eyes were swollen shut when the mediwitch finally dragged him to the fireplace, but Hermione could sense that he was mentally cursing her with every hex he knew. Madame Pomfrey, in the meantime, had questioned Hermione about the ordeal. She half-heartedly lied through the inquest, but the nurse wasn't fully convinced of her innocence. "Even if you didn't tamper with the medicine," Madame Pomfrey allowed, "I've noticed that you and Mister Malfoy haven't been on the best of terms. You are therefore assigned detention along with him all next week. I hope this will foster a better relationship between the two of you." Hermione didn't have the heart to protest.

The next day dragged by. Malfoy must not have gotten back yet; his spot at the Slytherin table was noticeably vacant, and Parkinson was gone as well. Hermione simply felt awful when that Friday arrived and she was alone at her table for Healing.

"Buck up," Mathias encouraged her. "He's a bloody awful prat, and I'm glad he's gone."

"Aren't you worried?" she asked him. "Malfoy seems to have it in for you, and he'll probably think the bees had something to do with you."

"Who, me?" He gave her a slow smile, almost bashful. "He's never liked me anyways, even when we were younger."

Hermione blinked. "You knew him when you were younger?"

"Of course. The Badeau family had served the Malfoy family for generations, up until my father." He leaned in closer. "But not many people know why my family was dismissed. It was entirely Draco Malfoy's doing." She listened in horror as Mathias detailed his experiences with Malfoy. When he was ten, he had caught Malfoy in his father's study, stealing money from the safe. When Lucius Malfoy noticed the money was gone, Malfoy immediately blamed Mathias, and even had the audacity to plant some Galleons among his belongings. "My father had died when I was six, and Lucius had taken charge of me, but Draco was always jealous of my treatment. I took away too much attention. Undoubtedly he wanted to get rid of me so he could dominate his father's attention."

The picture fit Malfoy perfectly. "No wonder he's so mean to you — he's jealous!" she fretted. "How can you even stand to be in the same room as him?"

Mathias gave a wry smirk. "The real question is how can _he_ face _me_? He's the one who has done wrong."

"Well," she began mock-sensibly, "it is Malfoy we're talking about. I doubt he could tell the difference between the two without assistance."

He laughed outright at that, and she laughed with him, but their conversation was cut short by the start of class. Their exchange of words, however, progressively darkened her mood during class. She became bitter with her partner as well as anxious about his return. That Malfoy could torment her, she had no doubt, but that he could do it to a boy he had known since childhood — a boy whose father was a treasured family friend! — she was shocked and horrified. He must truly be a heartless person, which scared her even more. Malfoy would likely show her no mercy when he returned.

Her idea wasn't too far off.

Draco arrived back at school on Sunday absolutely livid, marching straight past Pansy's cooing to his room so he could brood over his homework. But he found he couldn't work. He was still angry. What's more, he discovered that his ire wasn't directed towards Granger (which made him even testier). He was quite simply mad. About everything. About anything. He snapped at Pansy when she came to check up on him, he snapped at a younger student that had forgotten her book in the common room — he even snapped at Blaise when the boy offered him a sweet.

"Are you feeling well?" Blaise asked him cautiously. They were alone in the sixth year bedroom, reading the assigned text for Healing. Draco, after a moment's hesitation, placed his forehead in his hands and muttered a soft, "No, of course not."

"What's wrong?"

"Dunno," he mumbled. "I've just been short-tempered since Healing last Wednesday. I thought it might have something to do with Granger slipping me that bloody potion, but it's not just about her."

"Is it Mathias?" Blaise asked gently.

Draco blinked.

It was.

It bloody _was_. By saying that one simple sentence, Blaise must have dispelled a memory charm, because suddenly everything became clear. It was all Badeau's fault. He was the bleeding git that started this entire mess with Granger. Who else but him?

Draco snarled in frustration, but Blaise just chuckled. "I guess I was right," he sighed. "Pansy was afraid she had done something wrong to make you angry, but I told her it was something else so she wouldn't worry."

"You didn't have to do that," Draco grumbled.

"Really? Don't you care what she thinks?"

Bugger. "Er, right. Thanks." Blaise was smiling, but Draco didn't know why. He probably didn't want to know. He refocused on his homework, trying not to occupy himself with thoughts of Granger and Badeau.

But Granger was different when he sat next to her that Monday. Draco couldn't quite put his finger on it . . . though he supposed that the word 'jumpy' was adequate. When he reached into his book bag beside him, she nearly leapt into the next chair.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

He stared at her blankly as he pulled out his book and a sheet of parchment. "Is it fine if I take notes, or am I breaking some kind of rule?" Though he kept his face perfectly innocent, he was smirking on the inside. Merlin, she was afraid that he was going to get his vengeance today. _Not quite yet_, his mind cackled. Her punishment would be served after Badeau's.

Speaking of which, the bastard was late to class. "Do you know where Badeau is?" he asked her lightly.

For a moment, he thought she was too frightened to reply, until she said in a venomous voice, "I'm not his keeper, and you're not anymore, either."

Hermione had promised herself not to pay the slightest bit of attention to Malfoy during class. In fact, after she answered his question, she didn't speak to him again for a full fifteen minutes, despite all his attempts at bothering her. The prat didn't deserve any more attention.

"Another unusual case is cited on page eighty-three," Madame Pomfrey was saying from the front of the room. "According to the author, a muggle was admitted into a magical hospital in the States after he had placed his hand in the mouth of a werewolf and got bitten."

Hermione muttered, half to herself, "Who in their right mind would ever willingly stick their hands into other people's mouths?"

"Your mum," he whispered back. "Literally."

She glowered at him but chose not to reply.

"For this class assignment, I would like you and your partner to go to the library and research unusual cases and how they were solved. Together, you will write a ten inch essay about one of them, due this Friday."

Hermione's hand shot in the air. "Does that mean we write an individual essay?"

"No, Miss Granger. Just one per pair. You're to write it together."

Oh, bullocks. She'd have to talk to Malfoy now. Where was Mathias when she needed him? Hermione glanced around, but his welcoming smile was no where in sight. Maybe he was sick? Drat. She tried to sneak another glance at her partner, but to her alarm, her eyes met his. And then he smiled. Not smirked at her, or sneered, but smiled. And now she was blushing. Apparently, he wasn't as angry with her as she had originally thought. Still a little leery, but rapidly losing her edge, Hermione turned away and silently finished her notes.

It was only after Granger broke eye contact that Draco realized what he had just done, and why she was turning red. Bloody fantastic. He hoped that she didn't get any odd ideas about him smiling at her. (Or maybe he did hope she would. All he could tell was that there was this new tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him squirm in his seat.)

Madame Pomfrey led them to the library, where she gave a brief introduction to books that might help. When she allowed them time for research, however, Granger all but disappeared into the library, leaving Draco alone with the books that Pomfrey had handed him.

To say the least, it was boring. He almost caught himself missing an extra person, even if it was Granger. At least it was amusing to torment her. Draco flipped through a few more pages and stretched back lethargically. He took the chance to look around. Blaise was over to the right, talking to the Hufflepuff girl from their class. What was her name? Bones, maybe. It didn't really matter. They were searching through the pile of books together. Nearby, Macmillan was trying to get their attention to no avail. Draco smirked. A pointed stare from Madame Pomfrey, however, made him again drop his eyes to his book.

It was perhaps ten minutes later when Granger finally reappeared. In that time, Draco had managed a rather unique doodle of her being crushed by a book shelf. He handed it to her and watched her turn red with fury. She crumpled his note with one hand before throwing it at his feet. Unabashed, he picked it up and held it out to her. "I think you dropped this," he said seriously.

Hermione really really _really_ felt like hexing the daylights out of him right then. Her hand even twitched for her wand, but the recent memory of Malfoy in the hospital held her back.

"It doesn't matter," she said through clenched teeth. She then dropped a stack of books in front of him. "I marked some cases in these books that I found to be interesting. Read them and pick the one you like. We'll meet and work on the essay tomorrow at six." As she said this, she started to pack up her own things. Hermione did not want to deal with him right now. Any kindness she showed Malfoy was disrespectful to Mathias.

"Hang about," he interrupted. "What if I can't make six o'clock? And where do you think you're going?"

"You'd better be able to since we have detention at that hour. And I'm going back to the common room to study before our detention tonight."

"You have detention with me?"

"No, I just love spending time with you," she said facetiously. He glowered and was going to reply, but Hermione was already on her way out, dropping a few books in the return pile before she got to the stairs. Only when she was safe in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron did she allow herself to vent.

Draco, on his part, had also started to pack up, since he wasn't going to stick around and risk looking like an idiot. Granger had successfully cheesed him off yet again, but he knew that the books she had dropped in front of him probably contained a lot more interesting information than anything he had found. Bloody little know-it-all. He walked up to Madame Pince's desk to check out the books, and she did it expertly before scurrying off to help the other students.

It was then that the return pile caught Draco's eye. Granger had conveniently left the books she gave back on top, so, being a Malfoy, he naturally snatched it up to satisfy his curiosity. He flipped through the first few pages, looking for the title. Ah, here it was:

_Hogwarts, A History_.

He raised an eyebrow.

What fun. Granger even _read_ about learning.

Slightly disappointed that it wasn't smut he could use as blackmail, Draco snapped the cover shut and was about to return it to the stack when inspiration struck.

He would keep this library book. She thought she had returned it. Draco would hide it from her until it was weeks past due. The old bird in the library was famous for being stricter than Snape himself, and with a text long overdue, she would undoubtedly deny Granger access to her precious books. All of this would happen right before the holidays . . . right when she would need to finish the most homework.

It would be the perfect revenge, and Granger would never know he was culpable.

Draco shivered.

Sometimes he was so brilliant, it was scary.

Glancing about casually, he swiftly dropped the book in his book bag and whistled as he strode out of the library.

* * *

Ah yes, where the fun begins. The best present ever would be a **review**!


	11. Chapter XI

Happy New Year to everyone! Here's the next installment, and one of my favorites, I might add.

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Chapter XI

Hermione awoke slowly to the sound of her alarm, cursing the short rest she had. Last night's detention with Madame Pomfrey and Malfoy had been bloody awful. Not only had he tormented her whenever Madame Pomfrey wasn't looking, but after the professor had dismissed the both of them, Malfoy had insisted on discussing each book she had given him in the library, keeping her occupied until midnight. It had left her with little time to do her homework, and she was up until four studying. She did not want to go through another day of this. Mumbling to herself, she shoved a pillow over her ears and tried to ignore the buzzing.

"Hermione!" Parvati groaned. "What is that noise? Make it stop!"

"You make it stop," Hermione insisted blearily.

"I don't know how! Get your lazy arse out of bed!"

As if by magic, Hermione was suddenly wide awake. "Sorry, forgot you didn't know," she muttered in apology before shutting it off.

Hermione scrambled out of her bed and took a quick shower before she dressed for classes. (She didn't even _try_ to tame her hair. Those battles only ended in tears and heartbreak.) In her bookbag, she packed a fresh copy of her DADA essay, her books and some supplies. She also packed her alarm clock, which she quietly fiddled with before she placed it surreptitiously at the bottom. It was a battery-operated alarm clock, one her aunt had given her for Christmas last year. Hermione didn't really believe in alarm clocks, and at Hogwarts, it was more for show than anything. She'd fiddled with it enough to get it to work in the magical environment, using it in case of emergency. She set it last night because she knew she'd need something extra-annoying to wake her up. Now, she considered it a small blessing.

She hardly had any breakfast, as she was still half-asleep. A slice of toast tided her over. Harry looked a little concerned, but otherwise, nothing was out-of-the-ordinary. They headed to Defence Against the Dark Arts together and sat in the back row.

Draco entered the classroom almost immediately after Granger and her lapdogs did, and he could not pass up the opportunity to see how tired she was. He saw her bushy head struggling to stay uplifted and sneered. Dropping Pansy's hand (her lips drew into a thin line), he approached the Golden Trio casually. "Well, what do we have here?"

"Go away, Malfoy," Potter immediately responded as Weasel shifted to partially hide Granger from sight. Draco pretended to notice none of this.

"Seems like Miss Perfect can't even keep her eyes open today."

The red-head was going to speak up, but Granger beat him to it. "You know bloody well that it's all your fault! I only got to sleep for three hours!"

"Wow, Granger. I didn't know thinking about me kept you up at night." She glowered at him as his smirk widened. "Watch out, your face might get stuck like that." If possible, Granger's brow furrowed even deeper. "Oops, guess I was too late."

"Go sit down and leave me alone," she seethed. Her eyes were sparking with malicious intent. Beside her, Potty and Weasel look dumbfounded, as if they'd never seen her and Draco argue for an extended period of time. They really weren't bright, those two. Fortunately for Granger, Snape chose that moment to enter the room.

"See you in detention," Draco murmured to her as moved towards his desk. He didn't see her faint smile.

Pansy was pouting when Draco sat down beside her. "What?" he asked innocently.

"You know what. Were you trying to get another look at her eyes?"

He scoffed.

"Silence," Snape commanded from the front of the room, and the classroom chatter immediately died. "As a continuation of our lessons, we will again be practicing non-verbal spells. Today will be the Summoning Charm, which — although not necessarily a defensive spell — is a precursor to highly-advanced non-verbal spells. I have at the front of the room four dozen eggs. Each of you must summon one _undamaged_ egg before I dismiss class. Are there any questions?" He paused, but no one spoke. "As a final note, the non-verbal Summoning Charm at first takes total concentration, and total silence. Whoever speaks out or causes a disturbance will have to answer to _me_."

With that, he sat at his desk and allowed the students to get to work. It started out slowly. Draco, for one, was having a particularly hard time concentrating. Every time he seemed to get a good hold on the egg, his eyes would drift to Granger, who was struggling for once in her perfect life, and his own spell would fail.

Then, something unusual happened.

His pocket started to buzz. Loudly.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape hissed.

And the buzzing persisted. Draco panicked as he pulled a strange contraption from his pocket, one he'd never seen before. It vibrated in his palm. "What the hell?" He bashed it on the table, but it only clanged loudly.

"Mr. Malfoy, shut it off immediately!"

"I'm trying!" He began smashing the flat part onto his desk as hard as possible. It didn't work. The class began to snigger. Draco growled and pulled out his wand. "_Expulso_!" he barked. Immediately, the buzzing halted with the small explosion that jolted him back in his chair. Panting hard, he picked up what was left of the contraption. It looked like . . . a clock.

"A simple Silencing Charm would have sufficed," Snape uttered coolly from his desk. Another round of laughter passed the class, but the professor's stiff gaze hushed it immediately. "Back to work."

Hermione turned back to her book, trying her best not to burst into hysterics. Malfoy's reaction had been exactly what she had hoped for. It even seemed as if he didn't know it was her — or, at least, he couldn't exactly find proof. She caught him staring at the clock more than once, an impossibly deep frown on his face. When Snape finally dismissed them, Hermione, Harry and Ron almost burst out of the classroom, ready to joke about Malfoy on their way to the Great Hall.

Unfortunately, they didn't get the chance.

Someone nudged her shoulder rudely, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with the bloody ferret. Parkinson, looking a bit uncomfortable, was standing at his left shoulder, glancing between him and Hermione. It appeared as if Malfoy had shoved what was left of the alarm clock in his pocket, and Hermione valiantly fought back her laughter. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Who, me?" He smirked coolly. "Nothing much. I just had a question for you."

Hm. A small bit of her began to worry, but she swallowed a rebuttal and simply folded her arms in front of her, waiting for him to speak. To her horror, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the face of the clock.

"It's about this, really. I was just thinking that clocks like this are used by mudbloods, so —"

"Five points from Slytherin for using that appalling word," she interjected heatedly. In the sudden quiet that followed her declaration, Draco could literally hear the jingling of the emeralds falling into the bottom of the pile. He stood and gaped at her cheeky behaviour. How dare she take away points from his house? And for something as silly as a name!

"Five points from Gryffindor for interrupting me," he retorted, choking in his rage. He felt a bit more satisfied when five rubies joined the emeralds at the bottom of the pile.

Granger obviously didn't feel the same way. "What did you just say?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Whatever you think I just said."

"Then five points from Slytherin for abuse of power. And for spending more time on your hair than your schoolwork."

Ouch. Low blow. Draco growled. "Ten points from Gryffindor for being an annoying bint!"

"Twenty points from Slytherin for being _you_!"

Beside them, Potter cast a nervous glance at the hourglasses that contained house points. The Gryffindor and Slytherin ones looked like they were raining now. Forecast: More rain with a 65% chance of Hufflepuff winning the house cup for the first time in two hundred fifty-three years. Yippee.

Hermione didn't seem to notice, as she was now engaged in a full-out shouting match.

"I know you put that bloody clock in my pocket!"

"You can't prove anything, Malfoy!"

Fuming, he pulled the metal plate off the back of her alarm clock and pointed to a small bit of it, his eyes harsh. Hermione hesitated at first, but curiosity won her over and she peeked at the heap of metal.

_Happy Christmas, Hermie! Love Aunt Beckie_

She gulped. Oh bugger.

"All I know is that you'd better be ready for hell when you come to detention tonight," he hissed, shoving the pile of machinery into her hand and stalking past her. Parkinson sniffed at her before she, too, left.

"Touch her and you die, Malfoy!" Ron shouted to his back, shaking his fist in what was supposed to be a threatening manner. Harry, however, concerned himself with Hermione.

"Are you alright? What'd he do?"

She wrung her hands in front of her, and couldn't quite meet Harry's eyes. "Nothing's wrong. He just figured out that I put the alarm clock in his pocket."

Harry gaped. Even Ron stopped shaking his fist to turn and stare at her. "Hermione, that was _you_?" he exclaimed. "Brilliant work!"

"Thanks," she murmured, but her brow was still puckered into a frown. They continued to the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione's mind was still on Malfoy all the way there. It remained there until she saw him at six that evening.

It looked like he hadn't quite forgiven her yet. In fact, even Madame Pomfrey seemed a bit wary of him. She shot him a questioning look as she said, "You both will be preparing the potions ingredients for tomorrow's class. All of these beetles must be diced and placed in this cauldron. I'll be in my office if something should happen."

"Yes, Professor," said Hermione.

Glare, from Malfoy.

Hermione wearily sat at a desk and began sorting through the pile of beetles as Madame Pomfrey disappeared into her office. There didn't seem to be a terrible lot of them, but dicing them could prove to be a hassle. The beetles liked to bite, and the poison on their pincers — although not dangerous even in considerably large amounts — was usually enough to make a person light-headed and sleepy. They would probably be brewing some kind of sleeping draught tomorrow. She glanced up and saw Malfoy still staring at her, face frozen in rage.

That is, if she survived until tomorrow.

The pair began to dice in silence. Draco, of course, was silent because he didn't trust himself to speak. He worked diligently, only pausing to nurse a beetle bite or to glare in Granger's direction. He had figured out a long time ago, via an old witch's tale, how to avoid the dizzy spells that came from these beetles. Human saliva was powerful enough to destroy the toxins, so he just sucked each wound briefly before continuing. Judging by Granger's pale face, however, she did not know this trick.

That was new.

He faintly recalled that they were supposed to be talking about the paper due in Healing that Friday. He'd almost overlooked that one. On the other hand, he wasn't about to breach the topic himself. For all he cared, she could write the bloody thing on her own. He glanced at her again and saw her eyelids flutter. Apparently, the poison was getting to her.

He was, of course, right. After about an hour of dicing and numerous untended beetle bites, she swayed into his shoulder. "Watch it, Granger," he snapped. She held a hand to her forehead and hissed back, "I'm dizzy, you prat! Can't you show a bit of compassion?"

"Sorry, fresh out."

Sending him a glower, she said, "Why aren't you dizzy?"

He smirked. "Malfoys are immune to such lowly poisons."

"Don't make me laugh." The next beetle bit her so hard, it was still clinging to her finger when she gasped in pain. Draco had the decency to mask his laughter behind a cough. "Malfoy!" she growled.

He didn't understand what happened next. It _looked_ like she was going to punch him. Her fist was balled as she pulled it back, rage evident in her glinting eyes. Draco lifted his arms to defend himself . . . and then she was laying face-down on the floor next to him.

"Ug," she groaned, rolling into a sitting position. "What happened?" Before he could reply, Madame Pomfrey burst from her office.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaimed. "Why is Miss Granger on the floor?"

Draco shrugged. "I think she tried to hit me, but she missed."

"I don't feel good," Granger complained from the floor.

Madame Pomfrey bustled over and helped the girl up. "You may leave, Mr. Malfoy, but I expect to see you here tomorrow at six exactly."

"Professor, I didn't —"

"Enough." Her lips pursed and her eyes were dangerous. "You may not have pushed her to the floor, but you certainly haven't helped her. I am extremely disappointed in you."

Draco wanted to defend himself, but there was really nothing more to say on the subject, so he clamped his jaw shut, turned on his heel and headed back to Slytherin, feeling worse than he had in a long while. He tried to reason with himself — he hadn't _technically_ done anything wrong. She hadn't asked, he didn't tell. Simple as that. And so what if she face-planted? She'd been trying to attack him, for Merlin's sake! The bloody girl deserved it!

He thought all of this vehemently, but a tiny bit of him nagged, and nagged. It was a feeling he didn't fully understand. An echoing, cavernous feeling right below the ribs. It made him want to crawl into a corner and hide for the rest of the month, or maybe the entire year. All of his anger was swallowed up in the hole, and he trudged back to his room, trying to think of the word for this despondency.

It was guilt.

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I hope you liked it! Please review!


	12. Chapter XII

**Chapter XII**

Draco wasn't quite sure why he felt so relieved when he saw Granger waiting for him in Healing the next day. He knew that he had been worried about himself, for sure. Since the previous night, his mind had come up with all sorts of pranks she might try against him, and how he'd be able to defend himself. Then he'd started imagining her not coming to class at all, leaving him to do a project by himself, or she'd use some kind of mind-control potion and make him look like a buffoon. It hadn't occurred to him that he might have been, somewhere deep down inside (like really deep — an ocean or two, maybe) just a teensy bit worried about her.

Well shoot.

He took a seat next to her and tried to gauge her mood, but she was hiding her face in the text book. It didn't seem to be a good sign.

"We didn't talk about the paper last night," he said, shattering the silence between them. She winced at the sound of his voice and leaned a bit away from him.

"I know," she said.

And that was it.

Now, Draco was no fool, and he had known this girl for a long time, even if they weren't exactly friends. (Fine, they were the bane of each other's existences. Picky, picky.) To hear Granger just shrug off a paper in accelerated class was like hearing Snape laugh — creepy as hell, and a sign of impending doom. He gulped and faced forward.

Hermione only closed her book when Madame Pomfrey addressed the class, and she paid Malfoy no mind at all during the lesson. It was just easier that way. After all, she didn't want to make a potion with a partner that she had cursed every which way.

She had been right the night before; they were brewing a sleeping draught in class, then administering it to their new partners. Hermione'd only ever read about this one, and it was a bit exciting to work through the steps. It probably would have been even more exciting if she didn't have to work with Malfoy. He was competent, that was true, but he seemed completely set on getting her attention, using any means possible.

First there was the whole shoving thing. It was subtle at first, and Hermione wasn't sure if she had bumped into his arm on accident or if he had intentionally placed it in her way. It hadn't disrupted anything; in fact, she wouldn't have noticed it at all if he hadn't said a sarcastic apology afterwards. By the fourth bump, it was a bit more obvious what he was trying to do, so she retaliated by 'unintentionally' shoving his books off the table. She apologised to him only when Pomfrey glared in her direction.

He was a bit sore after that, so he started hissing things to Hermione softly enough for just her to hear. They were harmless things, mostly. Rather ridiculous. The word mudblood came up once or twice, but that never hurt her feelings anymore. This forced him to resort to more creative insults. Commenting on her lack of potions skills, for one.

"Merlin, Malfoy, you sound like a two-year-old."

"Excuse me," he sniffed, completely offended, "but I seriously doubt a two-year-old knows what 'egregious' means."

"Point taken, but it's obvious that I'm the one _making_ this potion, since you're far too busy abusing me to help."

"Fine, fine, stop your nagging, Granger."

"Nagging? I wasn't nagging."

"Then what do you prefer to call it? Bitching, maybe? Or PMS?"

She chopped the ginger root with more force than necessary, imagining his face with each pound of the knife. Maybe it was the idea of her with a sharp object, but Malfoy left her alone after that. She finished cutting the root and scraped every last bit into the potion.

"Stir it," she commanded, and he did it without hesitation. It surprised her a bit. Maybe she'd frightened him somehow. Whatever the reason, his compliance was a lot easier to handle. She dropped a few leaves of mint on top of the potion, and the liquid soon turned into calming shade of pinkish-orange. "It's finished."

A weight immediately lifted off of Draco's shoulders. Around them, others were finishing up their potions as well, and Madame Pomfrey pulled a piece of parchment out of thin air. It was the list of new partnerships. Draco didn't know whether to feel happy about it or not.

"Miss Granger, you will be with Miss Bones. Please take a vial-full of your potion and join her at the far table." Obediently, she filled the ladle with their brew and poured it gently into one of the crystal vials on the table and moved towards the back of the room.

Hermione smirked to herself as she joined Susan. She'd spoken to the girl before, and they had personalities that just seemed to fit. Susan was kinder than anyone Hermione had ever met, and she had a great respect for the girl. (Much more than a certain someone else.)

The rest of the room rearranged under Madame Pomfrey's instruction. Hermione noticed that Mathias was paired with Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, while Malfoy was with Blaise. Pity, really. She was hoping that Malfoy would be paired with someone that would give him a hard time, but the two boys seemed content with the way things had turned out.

"Choose which of you will drink first," the mediwitch instructed, "and then use the hospital beds to test the potion. The drinker should lie down, and the person that administered the potion should watch and take notes about any effects and side-effects. Remember, this is a sleeping draught."

"Would you like to drink first, or should I?" Susan smiled.

"Er, how about rock, paper, scissors? Winner drinks first?" Hermione suggested. She realized only afterwards that she was at a wizarding school, and that Susan might think she was a nutter for saying it. Fortunately the girl held out her hand as if she'd already known. Hermione remembered then that Susan was a half-blood.

They played a quick round as they moved towards a nearby hospital bed, and Susan won. "Here you go," Hermione said, offering the potion as her partner lay down.

"Thanks." The girl drank it swiftly while Hermione positioned herself for notes. The draught was surprisingly strong. As soon as Susan placed the vial in Hermione's waiting hand, her eyes were drooping.

"How do you feel?" the brunette pressed.

Susan made a funny face, part-smile, part-yawn. "Very warm," she said. "And _very_ light-headed." Hermione scribbled this down, but as she was writing, Susan asked, "Where's Blaise?"

"Hm?" she prompted as she finished writing.

"Where's Blaise?" the blonde repeated, a bit louder. "I want to kiss him goodnight."

Hermione's jaw dropped, and she stole a hurried look at the boy's back. He seemed to be out of earshot, thank Merlin. Poor Susan probably wouldn't know what to do with herself if he had overheard. "Sure, just lay down, and I'll get him for you," she lied, pressing Susan's shoulder gently back. The girl obeyed, and then she was out like _Nox_. Hermione exhaled and risked another glance at her first class partner.

Blaise was having quite a problem with Draco. This was because Draco was having a hard time letting himself fall asleep. "I really shouldn't sleep in class," he kept saying, struggling to sit up. "Madame Pomfrey wouldn't like it, mate. And Granger would sodding kill me." In his discombobulated state, he really felt it to be true.

"Hermione wouldn't kill you," Blaise grunted, trying to push Draco down into the bed. "Will you go to sleep?"

Draco resisted mightily against his friend's hold, and while Blaise struggled back, Draco gave a look around the room through half-lidded eyes. "That girl," he whispered. "That girl is liable to drive me insane."

"Honestly, I think you've already —"

"And we have a paper to write!" Draco interrupted dramatically. With that, he flopped back on his pillow and fell into a deep slumber.

Draco could not tell how long he was asleep because, well, he was asleep. When he came to, his mouth was dry and he had a slight headache. He cracked an eye open and found Blaise watching him keenly. "How do you feel?" the boy asked, his quill at the ready.

"Bloody awful."

He laughed as he helped Draco sit up, and the blond noticed that the other three students that drank the potion were having similar reactions. "Must be normal," Blaise observed absently.

The roles were reversed upon Madame Pomfrey's instruction, and soon Blaise was fast asleep while Draco scribbled some random observations on his parchment. The draught made his mind a bit foggy, but he could vaguely remember an odd need to say everything weighing on his mind. Even Blaise seemed to be mumbling under the influence of the potion. It was hard to make out the words, though, because Granger kept apologizing loudly to her partner. Draco allowed himself a small smirk.

"Perhaps some of you are detecting a pattern," Madame Pomfrey said aloud as the four alert students took various notes. "Why do some fall asleep almost instantaneously, while others struggle?" Draco began to doodle in the corner of the parchment, waiting for the cue to revive the patient. "Those with a lot weighing on their minds will often speak about it before they fall asleep."

Blaise muttered something in his sleep, but Draco barely heard, because he was trying desperately to remember what he had said before he had fallen asleep. If he spoke a single word about what was weighing on _his_ mind . . . he would be in trouble. He was so distracted by this thought, Madame Pomfrey had to personally ask him to revive his partner, as he had missed the cue from her earlier. Blaise woke with a start.

"That was right odd," he grimaced, massaging his temple.

"I'm afraid class has ended," Madame Pomfrey called over the chatter in the classroom. "Please gather your things and be prepared to discuss your findings next time we meet." Draco glanced at the clock hovering above the door and groaned. He was already late for his meeting with Pansy in the common room. (He couldn't tell whether he was upset that he was late, or upset that it was with her.) Draco stooped to gather his things when he felt someone watching — well, glaring — at him. He glanced up to find Granger hovering beside him.

"Let me through, please." Her clenched teeth negated her politeness. He rose in order to return her glare more effectively, but then he realized that she was a bit angrier than he had anticipated. He found himself fighting off the urge to step backwards. "Move," she pressed in a calm fury, and he automatically side-stepped, knowing she could hex him to bits in a moment, and probably talk herself out of trouble, too. As she walked past him, she swayed into his side and Draco felt her hand brush him ever-so-slightly on the back for support. It was like she had set fire to his robes, and his mind fogged up and he couldn't breathe as well as he wanted to. Of course, if he had known she had just stuck a 'hex me' sign on his back, he probably wouldn't have felt the same way.

Hermione had intended to make it out of the room quickly, but Susan distracted her at the door by handing her the homework assignment, which Hermione had forgotten on the table.

"Hermione, did you stick that to Draco?" Susan whispered, visibly shocked.

"What? The sign?" She shot her former partner a look, and happened to see Blaise handing him the sign from his back. Malfoy didn't look pleased. (He wasn't.) "Oh, that's just a joke between us."

The girl smiled in relief. "Sorry, I didn't know you two were so close."

Hermione smirked to herself. "Sometimes it surprises me, as well," she told her new partner as she snuck out of the room.

Draco could hardly remember his walk back to the common room. She was maddeningly infuriating. Or infuriatingly maddening. He couldn't tell which because he was too angry.

Go figure.

Draco, after excusing himself from Pansy, had been racking his brain for a prank idea since he'd gotten back from Healing, but the only thing he could come up with wasn't terribly creative. A five-year-old could have dreamed it up, actually. He tossed yet another crumpled piece of parchment into the trash and rubbed the heel of his hands into his eyes. Maybe he'd think up something better at dinner.

His eyes drifted to the clock and he swore. The meal would appear in two minutes. Grabbing his wand, he scrambled out the door and rushed past the few late-comers, including Longbottom, who was crawling out from under a table as he called someone's name. The boy gave a frightened squeak when Draco rushed past, much to the blond's amusement.

The food had apparently just appeared right before Draco entered the Great Hall. Pansy called him over with a wave of her hand, and he sat next to her.

"Are you feeling better, Draco?" she whispered as he piled mash on his plate. He made a noncommittal noise. And then he felt something plop on his shoe. Confused, he scooted back and tried to peer under the table. His confusion turned into a smile, and he pulled out his wand as he glanced over towards the Gryffindor table.

"Draco's looking this way again," Lavender squealed, giving the blond a finger-wave. He ducked his head immediately. "He's so fit, don't you think?" Neville sat down across from her, scraping a few vegetables on his plate, but she ignored him completely.

Hermione groaned. "_No_, Lavender. Malfoy's evil —"

"Yup, and smart."

"— violent —"

"Well-built."

"— vain —"

"Don't forget handsome."

That caused Hermione to stop mid-sentence. "Hang about, are we both talking about Malfoy?"

Lavender grinned. "You bet your knickers. You should ask him out."

Hermione merely snorted in reply. As if she'd ever entertain that thought. Personally, she'd rather date the blast-ended skrewts Hagrid was so fond of. Somewhat amused by the mental image, Hermione went to take a sip of her pumpkin juice. And she shrieked.

There was something in her glass that was definitely not a liquid. And it was alive.

All eyes in the Great Hall focused on Hermione. The thing hopped out of the goblet towards her, and she screamed again.

After a school-wide silence, Neville's voice piped up. "Trevor?"

* * *

(Yes, I've read that Susan cannot be a half-blood according to the books, but J.K. had originally planned her as a half-blood, so I'm sticking to that instead. It's a plot-point, I promise.)

So, yeah, it's been a long time. Sorry! You should have seen my term at college. It made me want to weep on a nightly basis. But I'm alive, and I can write again! Thanks for reading, and please review!


	13. Chapter XIII

Yaaay chapter thirteen! I hope you all like it. This is a bit fluffy... but it fits into the plot as well.

* * *

**Chapter XIII**

He was chewing it incessantly, and the chomping sounded like it was right in her ear. Occasionally, a crackle or two would escape, as if he were forming bubbles and snapping them in his mouth. She twitched every time he did it. Her grip on the quill could've snapped an arm in half.

"Malfoy," she growled.

He snapped again, louder this time.

"Malfoy! Stop it!"

"Stop what?" She almost made him swallow his gum when she glared at him. "Right." He took it out and hurriedly flicked it away while she wasn't looking. And then it landed — right in her hair. Draco was frightened for a split second, but when she didn't react, he had to bite back his laughter. This was thankfully squelched with the entrance of Madame Pomfrey, who looked ready to expel them both.

"I was disappointed with you both yesterday," she began severely. "The pair of you failed at helping each other even through a basic task. Therefore, I've decided that today you two will finish an assignment about each other as your detention." As she said this, she handed them both a sheet of parchment with a list of questions at the top.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "But Professor —"

"It's due by nine o'clock." They both stared at her and she crossed her arms. "Go on, then. I'll be in my office if you have any questions." Without another word, she disappeared into her room and the door clicked shut.

"This is your fault," Malfoy said immediately.

"_My_ fault? How is this _my_ fault?"

"You tried to attack me, remember? And if you hadn't wound up face-down on the floor, Madame Pomfrey wouldn't have known." Oh, damn his logic. She wanted to rip out her hair in utter frustration. Better yet, she wanted to rip out _his_ hair since he loved it so much. It would probably make him cry, and he deserved it.

"Let's just finish the questions," she said through clenched teeth.

"Fine by me." They tromped towards a pair of desks and sat facing each other; Malfoy slouched murderously in his chair while Hermione crossed her arms in defiance. "You start," he all but growled.

"Fine. How many siblings do you —"

"Zero," he interrupted. She just sat there for a moment (rather stupidly, in her opinion) before he raised his eyebrow. "Granger. Notes."

"Oh." The scratch of the quill tip on parchment was the only sound in the room. "Your turn."

He boredly read off the first question: "Why did your parents pick your name?"

"My parents named me after the Shakespearean character in _A Winter's Tale_," she recited. Then she said, "They thought the name sounded nice." Hermione frowned when she saw that Malfoy was blankly staring at her. "Um, Malfoy?"

Draco had no idea what a Shakespeare was, and he had almost opened his mouth to ask her — then he realized he would have been asking her a question that wasn't on the sheet. That would have been something like a conversation, and he didn't want that. So, instead, he wrote "shake spear play" and left it at that. "Go," he commanded.

Granger, choosing to ignore his bossiness, asked, "Are you a morning person or a night person?"

"Night. What's the strangest —"

"Hang about," she scolded, scribbling on the page. He watched her write for a beat in confusion.

"How long does it take you to write the word 'night'?" he inquired snarkily.

She flushed as she finished her work. "If you _must_ know, I was writing a complete sentence. Now ask the question."

Draco rolled his eyes as he flattened the sheet. "What's the strangest thing you've ever eaten?" Before she could answer, he began to write as he dictated, "Muggle . . . food. There. Next question."

The girl sputtered in indignation. "It isn't 'muggle food'! I was going to say chocolate frogs!"

"Chocolate frogs?" he repeated. "Why would that be weird?"

"I'm a muggle-born, you idiot! We don't have chocolates that move! We have things like Snickers bars, and —"

"Who would eat something that laughs?"

Hermione clenched her fists passively, wishing Madame Pomfrey wasn't in the next room so she could utterly _destroy_ him. Oh well. It looked like this was a job for fighting the proverbial fire with fire. "Your question: What was the last book you read?" She stabbed her quill in the ink, and then wrote as she spoke aloud. "Draco's last read was titled _How to Be An Arsehole in Three Easy Steps_." He growled at her, and her quill paused. "Or do you prefer that we actually do this assignment correctly?"

"Fine," he agreed, and violently crossed out the false answer he had written. "Chocolate frogs," he enunciated as he wrote.

"And what was the last book you read?" Hermione asked him diplomatically.

"It was . . . it was a book on Astrology," he muttered, suddenly looking away. She could see then that he was a bit embarrassed about it, and decided to say "thank you" for his honest answer. Malfoy didn't reply; he focused a bit harder on the questions and tried to hide the pinkness in his cheeks. Hermione found herself biting her tongue to keep from giggling.

He cleared his throat and read, "What are you best at?"

Granger did not answer immediately, much to his chagrin. He wanted to finish this as quickly as possible, but if she was going to ponder questions like this, they'd probably die while still in detention. "It takes you a long time to make up your mind, Granger. Maybe it's too big."

"I'm thinking," she retorted.

"Then think faster."

"I would say," she said loudly, interrupting him, "that I am the best at remembering dates of important events." He nearly laughed, and she snapped, "What's so funny?"

"Dates? Honest? Granger, you do everything better than anyone. Why would you choose _that_?"

She missed the compliment entirely (Draco was thankful for that) and instead decided to take offense. "That's what I think I do the best. I was answering the question."

"Then, oh enlightened one, how would one go about memorizing dates better than anyone else?"

"It's rather simple," Hermione confessed, intentionally overlooking his sarcasm. "You take the year — for instance, the year of the first centaur rebellion, 1169 — and you break it into two numbers. Then you attribute something personal to each one. I was eleven when I received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts. You try the other number."

"Sixty-nine?" He grinned wolfishly.

"Ha ha ha," Hermione replied in a monotonous voice. "Can we just move on?"

"It's your turn," he pointed out.

"Oh. Er, what languages do you speak?"

"English, and a spot of French." She wrote it down. "Where did your parents meet?"

"A dentist convention."

"Dentist convention?" he said before he could stop himself.

"Yes. Dentists fix teeth in the muggle world. And a convention —"

"I'm a wizard, not a moron," he told her, but his words lacked the usual bite, and she shrugged it off.

The next few questions passed quickly, and Hermione found herself relaxing a bit when she felt his sarcasm ease off into a type of playfulness. The questions themselves also seemed to become more subjective and personal. It was her turn again, and she asked him, "If you knew you could try anything and not fail, what dream would you attempt to realize?"

He laughed outright at that. "Granger, I'm a Malfoy. I get whatever I want."

Hermione, feigning shock, gasped. "Oh my, how do you manage to lug that Malfoy pride around? One would think you'd strain your back muscles eventually."

"Practise, my dear," he replied, just as sardonically.

They paused, simultaneously realizing that they'd just shared a joke. Neither of them decided to mention it, though, and the pair quickly looked away lest another pleasant word be exchanged. "Do you have an answer?" she finally asked. Even though she said it softly, the crash of her voice made her wince.

"I'll answer it later," he said. "Your turn: Which would you rather have, fifty thousand Galleons or true love?"

"True love," Hermione said without hesitation.

"What?"

"I said 'true —'"

"I heard what you said," he interrupted, laying his palms flat on the desk, as if preparing to lecture her. "I was just confused as to _why_."

"Money can't buy you happiness," Hermione quoted. She crossed her arms as she said it.

"If money can't buy you happiness, then you obviously don't have enough of it."

"Oh really? Well, Mr. Malfoy, can you honestly say that _you're_ happy?"

He was taken aback by her question, and his thoughts immediately flew to their first night at school, when she had told him he didn't know what happiness _was_ — the very words that started this whole war. Draco watched her evenly, almost gravely, even as his mind spun. He examined the last few weeks, analyzing everything, from his moments in class, to his girlfriend, to Granger: the one that had made his life hell since the first day he'd met her. He locked eyes with her, and a small, unexpected smile escaped him.

"I am right now." Then, as an afterthought, he wrote down her response under the question.

They rushed through the last few questions. Or, at least, Hermione was rushing. She didn't know what to make of him, or anything he did. First he was mocking her, then he made nearly-polite conversation, and now — now he was telling her that he was happy sitting with her? Was he joshing?

She nodded inwardly. It had to be that, as it was the only logical conclusion. She didn't want to live in a world where Malfoys were content sitting with Hermiones and chatting, because that world was strange and frightening. It gave her goose pimples thinking about it.

Hermione finished writing his final response and almost leapt to her feet, so eager was she to leave his presence. "It's almost nine," she said absently as she folded her parchment in half to turn in. He didn't seem as nervous as she; indeed, he'd hardly stirred from his chair.

"I think I'll stay here for a bit and study," he said. "I'll turn in your parchment to Pomfrey."

"Right. Right." She had to force her hand towards him to offer him her work, and then she turned and practically fled the room. Honestly, Hermione couldn't fathom what had just happened; all she knew was that was not an experience she was willing to repeat.

Ron was in the common room waiting for her when she scrambled through the portrait. "How was detention?" he laughed rhetorically when he saw her harried face.

"Don't get me started — the git's gone crackers, I think. The entire time . . . er, Ron?" She finally realized that he was staring right above her ear. "What's wrong?"

"Erm, Hermione, I, uh, think you've got . . . something . . . ." His face was almost as red as his hair, and he was motioning vaguely just above his own ear.

"Come on, Ron, I don't have all day," she snapped.

"It, er, looks like . . . gum."

Hermione blinked.

"Gum?"

* * *

Yes, a necessary chapter. Draco and Hermione are getting closer and they don't even realize it!! Please tell me if you liked it or not - review!


	14. Chapter XIV

**Chapter XIV**

Slightly bleary-eyed, and missing a small bit of her hair (thankfully unnoticeable), Hermione plopped into a seat next to Harry and sought out a piece of dry toast.

"Long night?" Harry asked significantly.

She just sighed as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. Lavender was giggling to her left at the innuendo, but she stoically ignored it. The only thing on her mind now was making it through the day without another encounter with Malfoy. He had used his charm last night to catch her off-guard. The gum, she had to admit, was something she had not expected, nor was the toad. Now she had to be ready for anything. "Harry, could you pass the jam?"

Ron sat down across from her while she lethargically spread jam on her bread. Even he seemed taken aback by her appearance. "Hermione?" he ventured.

She heard a screech and snatched up her wand in an instant, panting wildly.

"Merlin, calm down," Ron said, half-laughing. "It's just the post."

It was — there were owls pouring in. She sniffed once before reseating herself, missing the look Harry and Ron exchanged. In fact, she wouldn't have noticed the owl that landed in front of her if it hadn't pecked the toast right out of her hand. She wrestled it out of the bird's beak and, as an afterthought, snatched the letter as well. "You can leave now," she told it loftily. She imagined it snorting at her before it took off, flying dangerously close to her head. Hermione glared at it before opening her letter.

_Miss Granger,_

_It has come to my attention that you have kept a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ out for much longer than the assigned due date. As a consequence, you are not allowed to check out another book until it has been returned._

_Madame Pince_

She frowned and reread the script, allowing her eyes to linger briefly on the punishment. "How could this have happened?" she mumbled to herself. "I turned it in when I was with —" and her voice stuck in her throat.

"Hermione?" Ron said, noticing her shocked face. "Hermione?"

"Malfoy," she growled.

"Er, what about him?"

"Do you have a bit of parchment I can borrow?" she replied instead. Reluctantly, the redhead pulled out a scrap from his book bag, which Hermione grabbed immediately with a 'thank you' before she scribbled a note and attached it to a nearby owl. "Take it to Draco Malfoy," she commanded it. Harry and Ron both watched her in shock as she took a self-satisfied bite of her toast.

Draco's day had been slightly better. He was not feeling nearly as frightened of Granger as before, which allowed him to eat his breakfast in a deeply reflective state. Even Pansy's light conversation didn't disturb him. Only once did he interrupt her talk to ask a question he'd been thinking about since the previous night's detention.

"Pansy, would you love me without my father's and mother's fortune?"

"Why? Did something happen?"

"No."

"Of course I would, silly."

His lips twisted into a resigned smirk. Just then, a barn owl fluttered in front of his plate, a scrap of parchment hanging off of its foot. He leisurely untied it and read the simple note:

_Midnight. The classroom next to Sinistra's. Bring your wand. H.G._

He refolded the note and slipped it into his breast pocket. Somehow, the challenge did not surprise him. After . . . whatever had happened the night prior, he was confident that Granger was currently as confused as he had been for the past few weeks. Either that, or she wanted to end him. He wasn't quite sure. He just knew that this would be the final confrontation in their war, and he was glad — because then he'd never have to think about her again. Thank Merlin for that.

The day did not get better for Hermione. She was so distracted in class that she didn't answer a single question, and Professor McGonagall occasionally sent her glances that appeared borderline-worried. Defence Against the Dark Arts was no better; Snape managed to point out every flaw she made, much to the amusement of the Slytherins. The only upside was that Malfoy never looked at her. If he had, she might have gotten a detention for whatever she would have done to him afterwards.

Madame Pomfrey's detention was close to being hellish. Hermione snapped so many times at Malfoy for anything he did wrong, that when he left the classroom, he was flinching at the slightest noise. He nearly fled towards the professors' offices, making an excuse of a transfiguration question. _Good riddance_, Hermione's mind huffed.

She worked on some of her homework until it was time to meet him. Harry and Ron had already gone to bed, as had Ginny, so it was surprisingly easy to escape into the hallway. Her prefect badge was pinned to her lapel, but she did not have to abuse her power on her way to the classroom. It was empty when she got there, so she primly seated herself in a desk to wait.

And wait.

It was nearing twelve-thirty when he finally stumbled into the room, wand at the ready. "Pansy wouldn't let me leave," he muttered, pocketing his wand when he saw that hers was away. So this was to be a meeting of truce, he decided.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you to meet me here," Granger said icily.

"You want to end the wa —"

She cut him off by slamming a letter on the desk between them. "Where's my book?" she demanded.

After fighting off his initial shock, he scrambled to understand what she was talking about. Guardedly, Draco asked, "What book?"

"The book you _stole_. _Hogwarts: A History_."

The memories rushed back, and he nearly laughed with relief. Maybe he wouldn't die after all. "Oh, so you finally found out about that?" Draco asked her with a quivering smirk. "It's been so long, I nearly forgot about it myself."

"You selfish prat! Do you know what you've done? I can't check out a book until I return it!" He was surprised at how livid she looked, as if he had threatened her with bodily harm and torture. Her entire body was shaking with emotion. "I hate you, you know. I do! And never have I felt that more than now. I bloody hate you, Draco Malfoy!"

"Merlin, Granger, I'll return the book tomorrow, if it's that pressing! I didn't know you actually had to go there every bleeding day! Do they keep your meds there or something?"

She drew her chin up sharply, almost defiantly. For a moment, he wondered if she was going to slap him. That is, until she turned away and began to sob.

It was a bit unexpected, really. Cry? Granger? She was more likely to beat him into a bloody pulp than burst into tears. Granted, he knew that he was being harsh, but, well, so was _she_. And you didn't see him blubbering every time she called him a selfish prat, so what right did she have to do that after a harmless library joke?

Honestly.

After a minute straight of listening to her sniffles, he began to feel a bit remorseful. Should he apologise? The idea felt a bit odd, but maybe it would shut her up. He was seriously considering this when Professor McGonagall burst through the door.

"Miss Granger? Mister Malfoy? What is the meaning of this?"

Just as he opened his mouth to explain, Granger burst, "Malfoy stole one of my library books just so I would have to pay the fine!" This brought on a new wave of tears — bloody hell, was she a fountain? — and a furious glare from the professor.

"Both of you, come with me." She conjured a wad of handkerchiefs for Hermione and crisply led them to her office, whispering every so often about their immature behaviour. She instructed Malfoy to wait outside as she ushered the still-sobbing into the office.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," she said, offering her a cushy chair across from her desk. After Hermione made herself comfortable and calmed herself, the professor added, "Would you care to explain why you and Mister Malfoy were in a classroom together this early in the morning?"

One look at Professor McGonagall's gravely disappointed face, and Hermione knew she couldn't lie. She explained everything — every quip, every prank — as quickly as she could, never meeting the elder woman's eyes. "So I called the meeting tonight so I could confront him about my book," she concluded. "I didn't want to cause any trouble; I just wanted to get him to give me the book back." Hermione finally worked up the nerve to glance at her Head of House. "I'm sorry."

Professor McGonagall sighed and leaned back in her chair. "That is an intriguing story, Miss Granger — but it matches Mister Malfoy's almost to the letter. He visited me earlier and told me that you were planning to, as he put it, hex the life out of him because of something he did."

Suddenly, a lifetime of vocabulary disappeared. She could hear the faint pouf as it waved goodbye.

"I . . . I don't . . . ," she sputtered, fighting for sensibility. "You mean . . . M – Draco told you?" He was so dead, it wasn't even funny.

"He seemed rather upset. As I understood it, he came to me straight after your detention with him raving about mal-intent and the like. But I assumed that you would have a more mature reason to meet him, and I see that you two were merely talking through your problems. Therefore, I will not trouble either of you further with a detention. Just see to it that this foolishness _ends_ between you two. And next time, for Merlin's sake, talk to me before you call late-night meetings. You may go now."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied as she stood.

"Please send Mister Malfoy in before you leave."

Hermione nodded and strode out the door. She found Malfoy sitting on the ground outside the door, his back pressed against the wall. "The professor wants to see you," she told him curtly, and he scrambled to his feet while she started down the hallway.

"Wait," he called, but the girl ignored him. Frowning slightly, Draco turned to enter McGonagall's office. Her eyes were shrewd behind her spectacles. He knew that cheesing off the professor's favourite student would land him in this situation. He was also somewhat surprised that the pair didn't have a cup of tea before Granger left the office.

"You did not tell me about the theft of her book," she began sternly.

"I honestly forgot about it."

McGonagall was still staring at him, and he found it much easier to focus on the top of her desk than on her disapproving eyes.

Finally, she said, "Mister Malfoy, I have taught at Hogwarts for many years."

"Tell me something I don't know," he muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, Professor."

McGonagall watched him narrowly as she continued. "But I must say that in all of those years, I have never encountered a boy resorting to such childish measures for attention. If you really want Miss Granger to stop jinxing you, stealing her property is not the best idea."

"Well she didn't have to put a 'hex me' sign on my back," he grumbled.

"That was after you shoved her repeatedly in class," McGonagall replied. "But we're not here to list the grievances against Miss Granger. We're here because you started _all_ of this." She inhaled deeply. "Mister Malfoy, I'm sure that if you just explain your feelings to her, we can put all of this behind us."

"I have. It only makes her angrier."

"I am not referring to your appalling language about her lineage," she snapped in exasperation. "Simply tell her that you love her."

Draco stared at her, waiting for the punch-line. She only smiled at him tightly. After a moment of utter and complete silence, she still looked like she wasn't going to make a move. He eventually cleared his throat and said, "Sorry?"

"You are not a child any more, Mister Malfoy. Instead of pulling foolish pranks, tell her how you feel. She might even share your feelings." Draco stared at his Transfiguration teacher as if she had just recommended that he go skinny dipping in the lake. Had she gone crackers? He did not love Granger. He could not stand her when she was around. He could not stand her when she was _not_ around. Last time he checked, that was not the definition of 'love.'

"I do _not_ have feelings for her," he enunciated quite clearly, hoping Professor McGonagall would understand this time around. "The only thing I've ever felt for her is hatred. And rage, of course. But . . . _love_?" He wasn't in love with her. There was no possible way. She wasn't beautiful, for one thing. Sure, he thought her eyes were kind of nice, sometimes. But her hair still sucked arse. And she was uncouth enough to bite her thumbnail every time she was skimming textbooks. So there.

When a voice in Malfoy's head asked him _why_ he knew she bit her thumbnail every time she was skimming, he ignored it.

"I do not love Hermione Granger," he pressed, frowning as the Professor's lips tightened.

"I see," she murmured, that damnable tight smile still tugging up the corners of her sagging skin. Merlin, this was going to make him sick. "Then you will return _Hogwarts: A History_ to the library, and you will apologise to her before the end of tomorrow."

"Is that all?" he asked suspiciously.

"That is," she affirmed. "You may go, Mister Malfoy, but let me leave you with one final warning: if I hear about any other pranks you've pulled on Miss Granger, I will force a confession out of you myself. And it will be during dinner in front of the entire school."

"There's nothing to confess," he insisted quietly before he stole from the room.

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Finally, someone has noticed what's going on! Even if Draco hasn't, haha. Thanks again for reading, and sorry for the long waits between chapters. Let me know what you think so far - leave a **review**!


	15. Chapter XV

Haha, another installment. I'm glad with the way this story's going so far. According to my calculations, there are less than ten chapters left, but we'll see what happens. In the meantime, enjoy!

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**Chapter XV**

Draco was so perturbed by McGonagall's words, he didn't sleep at all that night, and breakfast was a blur of toast, pumpkin juice and Pansy's coddling. The only thing he learned during classes that morning was that McGonagall probably had a sick fantasy of him marrying Granger in the near future, an image that made him sweat. Lunch couldn't arrive soon enough, and when Snape's class was finally dismissed, he all but ran to the Great Hall, ready to abandon his disturbing thoughts through food.

But he couldn't. He, quite plainly and simply, could not free himself from the blasted woman's words. And another mortifying notion struck him — what if the professor had told Granger? Was that why the girl was ignoring him? He stole a glance at the Gryffindor table, but Granger looked remarkably normal, if not a bit more tranquil than usual.

Draco closed his eyes and heaved a small sigh. He was being ridiculous. Of course she didn't know. Otherwise McGonagall wouldn't have instructed _him_ to tell the girl. And the blasted woman would have probably sent out the wedding invitations if she had already told the girl. Momentary relief set in, only to be replaced with horror. Why did he care if Granger knew that he fancied her? Wait, scratch that. Why did he care if Granger _thought_ that he fancied her? Because he did _not_, dammit!

"Draco?"

The voice made him jump, and he glanced about wildly until his eyes fell on Pansy. "What?" he snapped, now embarrassed that he'd been startled by nothing.

"You looked nervous, and you've been acting strange all day. I was wondering if you felt alright."

"I'm fine," he lied, because he didn't have the proper vocabulary to explain the situation he was in. "Don't worry." She pursed her lips at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Don't purse your lips at me," he said, very nearly exasperated.

She gasped. So did all of the girls around them.

Ah, Merlin.

Squabbling broke out at the Slytherin table, earning a sigh from Hermione as she cut up her mutton. Everything seemed so trivial, now that the little competition she had with Malfoy was brought to an end. She didn't have to worry about drinking her pumpkin juice now, or walking alone down a hallway. It was a liberating experience. Regrettably, she still had to _see_ him. Shame, that, but it couldn't be helped.

Hermione pushed it to the back of her mind, and instead thought of Susan's words — the ones about Blaise. She'd had no idea that the girl had a crush on the Slytherin. Even now, during lunch, Susan seemed perfectly at ease with both the boys and the girls she happened to be talking to. It could have been her personality, though. Susan, from what Hermione knew of her, was the type of person that gave every individual single-minded attention, regardless of her own feelings. She was kind through and through. To see her show preference for a single person was nearly impossible unless you knew her quite well.

Blaise was also kind, though he seemed a bit more open with his thoughts. Hermione's eyes flickered to him, and she saw that he was watching Susan wistfully. Malfoy was trying to get his attention to no avail. So maybe Blaise fancied Susan as well, Hermione mused. She decided to observe them during class and see what conclusions she could draw.

Lunch finished. Hermione began to gather her things when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and immediately flushed. It was Mathias. "Are you walking to class? Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked her with a smile.

Hermione nearly stuttered her affirmative reply, but caught herself at the last second and managed to control herself enough to say a smooth, "Sure." Her mind was rocketing out of control, and deep down, she wondered if she truly _did_ fancy him. He was handsome, of course, but he was also the first boy that she could talk to without censoring her thoughts. He always seemed to understand her side. Together, they walked to class, chatting amiably about class. Their course of conversation eventually turned to the essay. "Did you manage to finish it working with him?" asked Mathias.

"Oh, I wrote it myself. I've seen enough of him in detention. Writing an entire essay with him was the _last_ thing I wanted to do."

Mathais laughed enough to make Hermione flush. "At least you've already worked with him. I don't know what he'd do if we were partnered together."

"That would be terrible for you," Hermione agreed. "Do you think Madame Pomfrey would really make you two work together?"

"I don't see why not. I haven't told anyone about his actions except for you, and he obviously hasn't spoken about it. There's no reason for me to spread rumours — _he's_ the one I should be worried about."

Hermione thought it admirable that he felt that way, and she thought him even more handsome now that he had said it. Unfortunately, they had just entered the classroom and had to part ways. She disappointedly made her way to her desk and began to unpack her things.

Draco had seen her walk in with Badeau and scowled almost instantly, so he turned towards his desk to avoid being seen. It was always that bloody prick getting in his way, making him look like a complete buffoon. No doubt he'd already convinced Granger that the Malfoys had made their money by burning down orphanages. She'd probably throttle Draco if he tried to get too close, especially if she and Badeau were all buddy-buddy now. Granger, in all likelihood, hated him.

Strangely, all of this made Draco want to talk to her more. He pictured himself walking to her desk and trying to start a civil conversation, but even entertaining the idea made him startlingly antsy. His stomach gave an edgy tug and he pressed his palm against it. Unfortunately, it only worsened his agitaton. If these were the fabled butterflies that came when one was nervous, then they were the kind that enjoyed eating flesh, because Draco felt as if he were about to die. It took every ounce of his concentration not to be sick all over the floor.

"Are you feeling alright?" he heard Blaise say. He sounded like he was at the other end of a wind tunnel.

"I'm fine," he managed to grind out in reply. Draco snapped his essay up, took a deep breath, and walked to her desk, where he slapped the parchment down in front of her. She noticeably started. "Here's the essay," he said, trying to sound casual. His palms were sweating.

She stared at him. "You . . . ? But _I _wrote the essay." She pulled the scroll out of her bag, amazement plain on her face.

"In that case —" With one fluid movement, Draco took out his wand, waved it over the two sheets and said, "_Mesclo_." The sheets of parchment merged, as did the writing. "There."

"What… what did you do to my _essay_?" she nearly shrieked, tearing the parchment from the desk.

"Merlin, Granger, it's not like I killed your firstborn. I just combined our essays to turn in." He couldn't help but smirk as he said it, which naturally incensed her more.

"You didn't even ask _permission_! What if I didn't want you to do that?"

"It was our assignment to write an essay together in the first place."

She opened her mouth again, but no sound came out except for a strangled "Oh." It sounded sort-of like a groan. He ignored it gallantly.

"So you want to turn it in, then?" he asked instead. Why was he still so nervous? She wasn't going to kill him after their truce, or else McGonagall would have her head.

"Right. Right. I'll turn it in." She turned back to her desk to signal the end of the conversation. Draco should have felt relief. Instead, he felt as if he'd been stabbed. Was he really so horrible that she couldn't stand to speak another word to him? Dejected, he made his way back to his desk and shuffled through his notes from the last class.

"Blaise, can I check your notes?"

The boy didn't react.

"Blaise?" Draco frowned at his friend, who was seemingly staring off into empty space. "Blaise," he repeated, quite loudly this time around.

As if pulling out of a dream, the Slytherin snapped back to attention. "Sorry, mate. Er, what was the question?"

"Never mind that, what were you looki—" The blond peered over his friend's shoulder and froze. Only the Hufflepuff girl was there, the half-blood, Bones, busily sorting through different books. Draco leaned back and quirked an eyebrow so only Blaise could see. The other looked decidedly uncomfortable. So, being the gentleman that he is, Draco decided to say nothing. (That is, until they got back to the common room. There Blaise would be mercilessly tortured by every Slytherin present.)

Draco was about to turn back to his work, but he caught sight of Granger looking between Blaise and the Hufflepuff with a satisfied smile on her face.

Oh _hell_ no. She was not trying to play match-maker between his best friend and some half-blooded Hufflepuff twat, even if she was rather fit.

The Hufflepuff, not Granger.

_Well, both, actually._

_Shut up, _Draco mentally snapped at himself.

Madame Pomfrey walked in at that moment and class began. Hermione worked as diligently as she could while still allowing herself time to spy on Susan and Blaise. Everything she saw was to her liking. Susan often would look up towards him and smile, and sometimes it even appeared as if she'd take the long way around the classroom just to pass his desk. Blaise watched her every moment he could spare. Malfoy noticed as well, since he could never seem to get his partner's attention. More than once, the blond shot an aggressive look at Hermione and Susan, as if blaming them.

Which, she supposed, was somewhat true, though Blaise was also to blame. From what Hermione could see, the boy was one step short of a proposal. She'd never seen someone so obviously in love before. It was endearing.

Before Hermione knew it, class had ended, and she and Susan had just agreed to study together the next day when Blaise himself stepped in front of them.

There was a brief moment where the happy couple regarded each other shyly.

"Er, hello, Susan." He gave a genuine smile, although his hands were rubbing together restlessly.

"Hello, Blaise." Susan touched a hand to her hair in a self-conscious manner.

Hermione, though she felt it was important that she leave them to their own devices, couldn't help but hang about. She pretended to examine her fingernails.

"I, er, was wondering if y-you'd like to study together tonight. I-I mean, there's a quiz coming up —"

"Oh, Blaise," she interrupted, face flushing. "I'm sorry! I have an essay due tomorrow in Herbology that I haven't finished. I-I have to work on it."

Both of them were so disappointed, Hermione could've sworn it was a tangible presence.

"Maybe later this week?" added Susan hopefully, but Blaise could hardly look her in the eye, he was so flustered.

"Right. Right." He paused. "Er, bye, Susan." The boy stumbled away to join Malfoy, who was glaring at both Hermione and Susan with contempt. They both left without another word.

"I-I can't believe that just happened!" Susan wailed when they were out of earshot. "Why didn't I say yes? He must think horribly of me now."

Hermione smiled mischievously and shook her head. "Susan, you should know that he'd never think that way about you. You'd sooner say a swear." The Hufflepuff flushed, but Hermione continued. "He will ask you again, and then you'll say yes, and everything will be fine."

"You really think so?"

"He'll ask you again," Hermione repeated as she pulled her book bag on her shoulder. "Just you wait."

In the meantime, Draco and Blaise were headed towards dinner together, taking each step in silence. Finally, Draco could bear it no more. When he saw the hallway was empty, he abruptly stopped. Blaise turned back and regarded him with a questioning glance.

"Do you really like the Hufflepuff?" he burst.

"Huh?"

"That girl . . . Susan, is it?" Blaise's reaction to her name was evidence enough for Draco. He grimaced. This was not something he'd ever wanted to do. "Blaise, listen — I know you fancy her, mate, but I don't think she fancies you."

"What are you talking about? I just asked her to study," he said, trying to laugh, but he wouldn't meet Draco's eyes. It made the blond feel even worse.

"There's no use pretending," Draco pressed, frustrated with himself. "I've known you for too long, and you've been distracted all day. It doesn't take a genius to see you fancy her. But that excuse she gave you . . . I just don't know if _she_ fancies _you_." He paused, and in a more subdued voice, added, "I'm not going to tell you what to do. I just wanted to warn you to pull yourself out before you're in too deep."

_Hypocrite_, the voice in his head chuckled.

"It's for your own good. Trust me." Blaise nodded but didn't reply otherwise. Draco clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder apologetically and continued his walk down to dinner, feeling worse than he had in a long time.

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Okay, this chapter's done. Now, I have a favor to ask. I can see all of you subscribing to this story as a favorite or as an alert, but so few of you are writing reviews! I'm here to say that reviews are your way of telling me what you want to see more of, and it lets me know what I'm doing right or wrong. It's a win-win situation. So, please, leave a **review **detailing what you like about this, or what you'd like to see. You'll thank me later. Honest.


	16. Chapter XVI

So, somewhat bad news... I'm going to be gone for about ten days, which will leave me zero writing time. I honestly don't know when I'll get the next chapter out. But, on the bright side, this is one of my favorite chapters. I do hope you all enjoy!

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**Chapter XVI**

Blaise did not sit by Draco during dinner. His absence was notable, especially since Pansy seemed to double the amount she conversed to make up for the missing person. "What's wrong with Blaise?" she asked him at one point, motioning to their friend.

"He has a fancy for some girl, but she doesn't like him, so I told him to drop it."

"Ooh," Pansy said, faking concern. "Which girl?"

Draco shrugged. "Some half-blood. It doesn't matter, it's over now."

But he knew it wasn't over, not really. Whenever Draco looked towards his friend, he saw him watching the Hufflepuff girl forlornly. Unusually moody, Draco didn't speak another word during dinner and he left for detention early, privately noting that this would be his last time working with Granger. He felt something in the pit of his stomach plummet, and he didn't raise his eyes from the floor while he walked to the Hospital Wing.

Hermione was having a much nicer meal. She and her friends were practically celebrating her liberation from detention. "You'll be able to come to the Quidditch game this weekend," Ron said with a grin as he spooned mash into his mouth. "Iff our mash a'enst Hufeffuff."

"That's disgusting, Ron," Ginny told him with a grimace. To Hermione, she said, "But you _should_ come see us. It'll be a fantastic match."

She laughed. "Of course I'll come." Thinking back to the last Quidditch game, and all of its horrendous consequences, she had to suppress a shudder. Had it only been a couple of weeks since then? Had that really been her? Forcing that thought to the back of her mind, she said, "The book worked well enough, but I think I'd rather watch it in person this time." Everyone laughed along with her as they recounted Neville's blunder at the end of the game. Her time with them was cut short when she glanced at the time and started.

"Merlin, I'm going to be late!" She snatched another dinner roll and nearly leapt out of her seat, noting Malfoy's absence with panic. "Oh Merlin, Malfoy's already left. I'll meet you all in the common room afterwards." She didn't wait for their reply. In fact, Hermione nearly sprinted away, still struggling to put her bag over her shoulder as she shoved through the door.

Draco glanced once again at the clock before turning back to the entrance. It was two minutes after, and Granger had yet to arrive. It wasn't like her to be late. But then the door burst open and she stumbled in, cheeks pink and eyes bright with hurry. _Good. She's here_, he mused. His inexplicable relief immediately recoiled into terror. _I mean, I _don't_ want her here. She's so annoying and distracting._

And then that irritating voice was back, laughing its head off and saying, _Distracting? Why would you think she's distracting? Maybe you should fess up now._

_Whose side are you on?_ Malfoy thought bitterly.

Pomfrey, after scolding Granger for a bit about being late, set them to scrubbing desks without magic, which was a horribly menial task. Draco tried to pour every ounce of his concentration into getting the surfaces sparkling, but it was so easy to get distracted by the sounds of her moving beside him, her breathing, the rustling of her skirt. She'd even caught him staring, once.

"What are you doing?" she'd bitten out, her eyes mere slits.

"You're hoarding the bucket." It was somewhat true, and she relaxed as she passed him the pail of soapy water. He made sure after that to keep his eyes on his work.

By eight-thirty, with a stiff back and a dour mood, he'd finished his portion of the desks. Granger wasn't far behind, and she dropped the scrub brush into the pail with a satisfied look on her face.

But when the girl asked permission to leave, Madame Pomfrey requested one more task from the both of them. "You and Mr. Malfoy didn't finish the sheets I had you write on Wednesday. I circled the incomplete question. Answer it and turn it in before you leave."

Hermione tried to say something else, but Madame Pomfrey closed the door before she had the chance. She glanced at the paper, and felt Malfoy looking over her shoulder. Ah, that question — she remembered it now. They'd skipped it but apparently hadn't gone back to answer it in the end.

"Let's get this over with," she said as she magicked a quill into her hand.

"Right."

There was a beat of silence. Why did she feel like blushing? "Er, if you knew you could try anything and not fail, what dream would you attempt to realize?" Hermione said, stumbling through the words. She glanced up at him. For some reason, it seemed as if Malfoy was more embarrassed than she was. He would not meet her eyes. She could see his jaw working furiously, but otherwise, his countenance remained impassive. Finally, he snatched the sheet and quill out of her hands, scribbled down his answer with his back to her, and left without even giving it back.

"Malfoy?"

He yanked open the door and swaggered out, ignoring her.

"Malfoy, you git, come back here!" she demanded, but the door was already closed. Angrily, she ripped the parchment from the table and read his response:

_Happiness._

When the classroom door clicked shut behind him, Draco ran. He ran down the stairs. He ran through different corridors. He ran pasts the ghosts who scolded him for running, but he kept right on running anyways. He didn't stop the pounding of his feet until he was back in his room, winded and red with mortification.

Draco could not fathom why he wrote it, or why he was scared that he had. Maybe it was because he felt it to be personal, and therefore embarrassing. Maybe because it was like admitting to her that she had been right that first day in school. Or perhaps it was simply because he _bloody hated looking at her face_.

The voice in his head was cracking up.

Running a hand through his hair (Merlin, was he really sweating?) Draco moved towards his bed and collapsed over the covers. Once again — he'd lost count of the exact number of times — his thoughts returned to Professor McGonagall's words. He couldn't stop thinking about them, really. They were utterly shocking, utterly _wrong_. He did _not_ fancy Granger. He _hated_ her. Hated her with his entire being….

He frowned at his pillow.

Well, he didn't really _hate_ her. He'd gotten past that bit awhile ago, when she was his partner. Maybe before then. It wasn't really important. But he didn't _fancy_ her, either. How could he fancy her when he was dating Pansy?

Right, so maybe he did occasionally compare Pansy to her. That didn't mean he fancied Granger. Not at all. He couldn't help it if Pansy didn't quite have her blasted wit, or her stubbornness that nearly drove him to madness. And then there were her bloody eyes that seemed to follow him even when she wasn't there, that deep brown that sparkled whenever she smiled —

His thoughts froze. _He_ froze.

Because he suddenly _knew_.

It hit him then. Hit him like a curse. A hex. Like the Cruciatus.

He didn't fancy her.

He was sodding in _love_ with her.

With Hermione bloody Granger.

Bloody fucking _hell_.

All of the profanity in his vocabulary wasn't enough to express his discontent, and he had to resort to animalistic groans of frustration as he pounded his head into the mattress. It couldn't be true. How could this happen? He didn't even bloody know what the word 'love' meant. But hell, if your spinster professor advises you to fess up, isn't it a bit obvious?

Merlin, he'd been such an idiot. He should've dropped out of Healing after that project. He should've packed up in the first week and went back home. He should've escaped when he had the sodding chance. Why hadn't he stayed away from her like everyone else had? His heart was a bloody traitor, that's why. Back in the day, things like this were punishable by death. A pureblood falling in love with a mudblood? Weasleys did that sort of thing. Not Malfoys. No, Malfoys had hearts of granite. They could kick puppies, torture kittens, and have a good night's sleep afterwards. They did not care about anything, and they most certainly did not fall in _love_ with anything.

'Falling in love' was such a misleading phrase besides. Draco had never felt a strange pull on his stomach when he saw her, nor had he ever been inclined to scream as if plummeting to his imminent death. Hell, he didn't even know when he had started to fancy her, and now he was bloody head-over-heels. He'd like to think that if he'd 'fallen' somewhere along the line, he'd be aware of it instantly. The English language was right queer, he decided vehemently.

Unfortunately, that left him right at square one, with no hopes of curing this unwanted fancy. He had to come up with a plan to remedy this, and fast. But after three restless hours of plotting, Draco was left with only one plan that might possibly rescue him from a fate with Granger. And you can always tell you're in trouble when your best plan involves gouging your own eyes out with your wand.

He sat up, cradling his head as if it held all the weight in the world. "How did this happen?" he whispered to himself. He didn't know when it started, how it evolved, but he knew it immediately to be true — he loved her. Draco tasted the words on his tongue. "I love her." It felt right, curse him. It felt _natural_. And the most horrifying part of all of this was the warm feeling that spread from his stomach to every corner of his body, even to the very tips of his fingers. It seemed to lift him, to pull up the corners of his mouth, to levitate his limbs as he scrambled under the covers. He was floating. The feeling wrapped around him, warmer than the quilt draped over his body, soothing as a healing salve. Draco had never felt anything like it before.

Without another thought, he drifted into a deep sleep.

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling rather restless. Malfoy's answer last night had bothered her, but his behaviour afterwards was downright bizarre. Every experience she'd had with him before this year — and indeed, many she'd had in the past couple of months — led her to think of him as a self-centred plank. Then he'd do something like he did last night, and make her consider even briefly if he had a heart or not.

Her conclusion was always negative, but the fact that she had to _think_ about it was worrying enough.

She checked the clock by her bed — 8:37 — and rolled out from under the covers. Susan had agreed to meet her at ten to study together in the library, so Hermione took a relaxing shower, packed up her books and headed out the common room door. She arrived early, of course, in order to take her time setting up her study space. Hermione loved everything just so—her books marked and sitting to her left, pen and ink ready for writing. Parchment labelled with the class name and dated. It was nearly a ritual. She was so caught up in her task that she didn't know someone had followed her to the table.

Draco had seen her when he exited the Great Hall, and couldn't resist following her to, surprise surprise, the library. He'd kept close to the bookshelves, and was grateful she was oblivious enough not to look around her. She sat at a table and pulled out her things.

There was a part of him that wanted to kick himself in the shin for even being here, for following her like some deranged stalker, while the other part was fascinated by merely watching her lay out her books. Oh, and then there was the small bit that whispered McGonagall's words each time he heard his heart beat: _Tell her that you love her._

Hesitantly, he took a step forward. He felt as if he were on a very fast merry-go-round. At least, he would've felt that way if he knew what a merry-go-round was. The fact was he didn't, therefore he couldn't describe what was going on in the pit of his stomach. He just knew it wasn't a very good feeling. And that it was getting more pronounced the closer he got to her.

If this was love, he didn't enjoy it.

"Granger."

She started and whirled, and he felt somewhat guilty when he saw her widened eyes. The action also snapped him out of his fancy. He was able to put on a haughty, distant glower instead of turning into a pile of mush at her feet.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "Sorry." The girl seemed flustered, and she rearranged her books self-consciously. "Did you need something?"

Draco, knowing full-well that it was a bad idea, took a seat beside her. He ignored the surprised look she sent him. "I was just wondering if you were meeting with that one girl. What was her name?"

Granger frowned at him questioningly. "You mean Susan?"

"That's the one, yes. I had a question for her."

And then he just sat there.

Hermione did not know what to think. He was acting much the same as yesterday, and yet, something was off about him. He almost seemed… well, she couldn't put a word to it. But every time she reached to grab a book near him, he'd straighten up in his chair. She caught him staring once or twice, as well, though it seemed to be more absent-minded than anything. He'd even tried to start a conversation.

"What are you working on?"

Wordlessly, she pointed to the title of the book she was skimming.

"Ah, history." Malfoy paused. "Do you like history?"

The question itself, so innocent and sincere, sounded like Greek coming from his lips. Hermione paused her reading to stare at him. She couldn't read him at all, so she answered cautiously. "I like it, but it's not my favourite."

"Ah. What is your —"

"Hermione, sorry I'm late!" Susan chose that moment to burst into the room, bobbling a few books in her arms. "I saw Blaise and I tried to —" Only then did she notice Malfoy sitting across the way, looking every bit the indignant, haughty boy he could be. "Oh, hello."

"Go ahead and ask your question, Malfoy," Hermione told him absently, returning to her book. She didn't see his wide-eyed stare that flickered between her and Susan.

"Er, never mind, I've just remembered," he said suddenly, and was gone faster than she could say _Nox_, disappearing between the bookshelves. Both girls froze for a moment. Eventually, they exchanged looks. Susan asked her, "He honestly had a question for me?"

"That's what he said. I mean, why else would he choose to sit with me?"

Susan tipped her books on the table and sat across from Hermione. "What did he do?"

"Well, he mostly sat there. He asked me a couple of questions, but it seemed to be necessary — I mean, he was just watching me read."

"And all that just to leave when I got here?" Susan asked. Her voice was filled with incredulity. Now that she heard the words, Hermione realized how strange it all seemed. Susan, voicing Hermione's inner-thoughts, added, "What have you done to Draco?"

Hermione turned to stare at the spot the boy had once occupied, her jaw slack. She finally intoned, "I have no idea."

* * *

Lots of P&P references in this chapter. It makes me smile! Anyhoo, I'll try and do my best with the next chapter. Thanks for reading, and please don't forget to drop me a nice review!


	17. Chapter XVII

Another chapter! It's not my favorite one, but it's a very necessary one, for reasons you'll see in the text. You may not believe it, but after this chapter, there will likely be only five more! (I know, it's crazy!) In any case, read on, dear reader...

* * *

**Chapter XVII**

Susan and Hermione worked together for a few hours, chatting quietly when they needed a study break. During the first pause, Hermione remembered to ask Susan what she was going to tell her before Malfoy had interrupted.

"Oh, that," Susan said, trying to keep her voice light. Her furious blush, of course, gave her away.

"Yes, _that_," Hermione pressed. She felt slightly embarrassed about acting like Lavender and Parvati, but honestly, she was so eager for Susan that she shoved her feelings aside. "You said you saw Blaise in the hallway. Did you catch up to him? Did you talk to him? What happened?"

"N-nothing."

"Nothing?"

"He said hello, and that he had to hurry because he was late meeting a friend. That was it."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say. Even though Susan was calmly flipping through her textbook, she could see that her friend was hurt deeply. It simply wasn't like Blaise to be so abrupt with anyone, and Hermione thought that his fancy would see that he place Susan on a pedestal. Yet, here she was, dejected and pretending as if she wasn't. Hermione ached for her.

"I need to fetch a book," she mumbled to Susan as she rose. The history section, fortunately, was a bit of a walk from where they were, so Hermione had time to think. She scribbled down the title she wanted and headed down the aisles, pausing every so often when a book caught her eye.

That was why Pansy didn't see her.

"Of course we're getting married! You don't know how nice Draco can be, truly!" Pansy was giggling with some other Slytherin girl that Hermione didn't recognize. Curious, the Gryffindor hid herself in a nearby aisle and took down a book at random, pretending to read. "He's so selfless all the time. Why, just yesterday, he was telling me how he got one of his friends out of trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Apparently, the friend had a fancy for the wrong sort."

Hermione didn't hear the rest of what they said. She didn't hear their giggles. _Wrong sort_. Susan — the half-blood. And Blaise. She'd thought so much more of him. She thought he didn't care about blood.

_Maybe it was someone else_, her mind protested. _Maybe there was another friend that liked someone, and there was a good reason to end it._ But deep down, Hermione knew that her first instinct had to have been correct. There wasn't anyone else Malfoy was so close to, and it was easy to imagine that Blaise would be easily swayed by his friend's words. Malfoy must have spoken to Blaise about Susan and told him to end it.

Hermione reshelved the book and stumbled away. She could see the scene now: Malfoy acting as the tragic hero, coming just in time to save his friend from making a huge mistake. It nearly made her sick. Susan didn't deserve to be treated that way by anyone. She was a kind person, a good one. She deserved happiness.

"Were you not able to find the book?" Hermione jumped. But it was only Susan, watching her with concern. She was asking, "Do you want some help?"

"No," Hermione answered, trying to mask her displeasure with a small smile. "It's fine. I actually think that I'm going to go back to the common room. I . . . I don't feel well."

"Oh, that's alright. I think I'm done studying for today, besides."

Susan, kind girl that she was, helped Hermione pack her things, and even went as far as offering to walk Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower, but Hermione declined. She truly did feel miserable, but for reasons she hoped that Susan would never have to worry about.

But Hermione was wrong.

Blaise was still ignoring Susan. She saw it in class, in the hallways, during meals. While he had watched her almost constantly before, now he refused to look at her. Susan herself became a bit more withdrawn than her normal self, and her skin was paler than usual. The worst part for Hermione was that she knew that Malfoy had caused it all. His skewed perception of blood had now hurt one of her friends in a way that she couldn't fix. So Hermione avoided him. It was for the best, really, since every day led to a new discovery that made her hate him more. Additionally, she'd lost all confidence in Blaise. What kind of boy could be so easily manipulated? He'd only just asked Susan on a date, and then all at once he was avoiding her. Hermione grew frustrated just thinking about it.

And there was still Mathias. Malfoy had no right to hurt him simply because of jealousy. It was an entirely selfish endeavour, one that exactly fit Malfoy's personality. Hermione kept her word, never telling the story that Mathias told her, but after that Hogsmede weekend, the entire school was suddenly discussing what Malfoy had done to the Ravenclaw boy. Only the Slytherins seemed to still think highly of the blond after that. The rest of the school labelled him as the worst sort.

But, they all still had class together. Hermione cast a sad glance to her left, where Susan sat working with Lavender. No one else had seemed to notice the dark creases growing under the Hufflepuff's eyes, or her less-than-happy smile. She'd been quiet for almost the entire class period, only speaking when spoken to.

Hermione was so distracted, she didn't notice Madame Pomfrey approaching until the woman was already speaking to her. ". . . a job well done, both of you," she was saying. "It was the best of the class."

"Thank you," she automatically replied, accepting the parchment from the professor. When the woman was gone, she tossed it aside and began to root around in her bag for a quill.

"Watch it, Granger, that was a lot of hard work."

She jumped. Malfoy was standing next to her, the parchment in his hands. "What are you doing?" she hissed. "Give that back, it's mine."

"Don't I have the right to look at my own note?"

"It's _my_ note." She tugged the parchment back towards her.

"It's mine too!" He pulled just as hard.

"Madame Pomfrey gave it to _me_!"

"That's because it's _both_ of ours!"

Hermione paused. "Both? You mean it's —"

"The essay, yes," he finished, straightening his robes in a self-dignified manner. "And look, we got an O. Did she say anything to you about it?"

"Er, she said . . . it was the best one of the class." When she looked up at him, Malfoy was smirking.

"Of course it was, Granger. Don't seem so surprised."

Naturally he'd think that, the git. He probably took credit for every group project like that. She glowered at him, and his face fell slightly into confusion.

"Mister Malfoy, please return to your seat." Madame Pomfrey had returned to the classroom with her book, ready for the lesson.

"Sorry, Professor. Just checking our note." He turned on his heel and reseated himself for class, face still dark. Today was the last for this set of partners. Hermione was working with Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, and it had been draining, especially for the past few days. Not that he hadn't been nice, no. He'd just been _too_ nice. And where Susan's kindness was sincere, Ernie's was nearly artificial. He also spoke of himself and his aunt — a mediwitch — with such reverence, it almost made Hermione laugh aloud. She couldn't wait to see who her new partner would be. (Hopefully, it would be a familiar face.)

Class dragged. Ernie spoke of his aunt's expertise again and again. Hermione had to repeatedly remind herself that she was in a classroom and ought not to curse him. Every so often, she'd look towards the other groups, assessing who would be better than her current partner. She concluded that, out of the potential partners she had, absolutely anyone would do.

At long last, the time came to switch.

"The next unit will be over mending sprained and broken bones, something that will be hard to practice without a proper patient. That is why, during the course of these next two weeks, you and your new partner will be able to elect a date in which to visit St. Mungo's and assist real medi-witches and wizards." Madame Pomfrey went on to explain how the assignment would be graded, and that students would have to travel to St. Mungo's on their own time.

Hermione was nearly bouncing inside. An opportunity to work side-by-side with professionals was like an early Christmas present for her. And, if she had the proper _partner_ . . . well, the assignment could be even more fun than she cared to admit.

But Madame Pomfrey was reading her list now:

"Miss Brown, you will be partnered with Mister Macmillan." Hermione's heart went out to Lavender. "Miss Brocklehurst, Miss Granger. Miss Bones, Mister Zabini. And Mister Malfoy and Mister Badeau. I hope that these partnerships will work for the best."

The disappointment stung Hermione deeply. Not only was Mathias partnered with someone else, but that someone else happened to be Malfoy. That, and Susan was so mortified that she was working with Blaise, she had hidden her face in her hands. Blaise didn't look any less shocked.

In other words, Hermione predicted that it would be an interesting two weeks.

Madame Pomfrey gave the groups the last few minutes of class to get to know each other, and to determine when they would visit St. Mungo's. Hermione, however, couldn't put her heart into it. She was too preoccupied with Mathias, who was currently having a staring contest with Malfoy. She hoped desperately that Malfoy wouldn't attack him.

There was another reason Hermione found herself unable to focus, though. Mandy was annoying. Beyond annoying, actually. Everything she said had a mindless story behind it, and the girl felt herself to be well-informed about everything. Hermione crinkled her nose and hoped she never sounded this stupid to others. And she almost, _almost_ wanted Ernie back.

Mandy was so bothersome, in fact, that even after Madame Pomfrey dismissed the class, she refused to stop talking. Hermione was forced to sit and wait for her to finish whatever she was talking about (Hermione wasn't actually _listening_) for another five minutes. In reality, the conversation would have gone on longer if Malfoy had not interrupted.

Malfoy was her saviour.

And, yes, she was aware of the irony.

"Can I speak to Granger?" he asked distantly.

"Oh, yes, yes, go ahead, Draco. I've finished my story. Oh my, is that the time?" Mandy began to hurriedly repack her things as Malfoy motioned for Hermione to move closer to his own desk. "Oh, Hermione?" Mandy called as she scraped her collection of quills into her book bag. "Should we research in the library, as well?"

"Sure," Hermione replied half-heartedly. She could feel Malfoy's smirk, and it made her want to punch him. Why did _he_ get Mathias? It wasn't _fair_. She turned to him and grouchily asked, "What do you want?" That was when she noticed he'd been watching her . . . rather intently. Hermione uneasily shifted her weight.

"Malfoy?"

He snapped back to reality. "Madame Pomfrey asked me to speak to you about something," he rushed.

"About what?"

"About switching partners."

Her jaw dropped. He had to be kidding. Was he really going to switch partners just so she could be with Mathias? "So you'll be with Mandy?" she said, a tad bit softer so that she would not be overheard.

Malfoy's smirk returned. "Merlin, no. Pomfrey would prefer that _we_ work together again. She thinks that we're developing some kind of rapport."

Hermione nearly fainted. She simply did not want to work with Malfoy any more. But — her mind turned back to Mandy with a shiver — was there any other option? She began to worry her lip. While Mathias would inevitably be tormented by Mandy, at least he wouldn't be in any _danger_ from Malfoy . . . and Hermione trusted herself to keep the blond well under control. In fact, she was sure that she could pay him back for all the damage he'd done to her friends if they were partners. She apprehensively flicked her eyes at him and noticed something.

He was watching her _that way_ again.

Hermione frowned.

. . . Blimey, was he looking at her mouth? No, no, impossible. He must be looking at . . . her nose. Yes. That was it. Was there something on it? She rubbed it absently, and his eyes flickered back up to hers. Funny, he suddenly looked sort of nervous. Was it still there? She rubbed her nose a bit more while he said, "As I was saying, Madame Pomfrey recommended that we work together these next couple of weeks."

"But . . . but I thought you had to work with Mathias. You have to work with everyone at least once, right?"

At the mere sound of the boy's name, Malfoy straightened up, scowl on his face. "Pomfrey said it herself, Granger. Mathias will work with Mandy, and I'll work with you."

She couldn't understand at all. Well, she understood why Malfoy didn't want to work with Mathias — it reminded him of his wrongdoing, and he felt guilty, the git. On the other hand, wanting to work with _her_? Going as far as personally asking her to switch? She never thought she'd live to see the day. If a half-blood wasn't good enough for his friend, why would a muggle-born be Malfoy's personal choice? Suddenly, the anger she'd been squelching for the past few weeks escaped her.

"Are you sure I'm not the wrong sort, Malfoy?" she asked icily.

He cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

She was about to launch into a full-blown tirade when she was interrupted. Mandy had jumped in front of her, a giddy smile on her face. "Hermione, do you think that we could start the research now? I have some library books picked out in my head, and I'm not hungry for dinner."

Hermione actually fell back a step, she was so surprised. "Er, uh, you know I would love to do that . . . but actually, Mandy, I think Madame Pomfrey would like to talk to you. She, er, wants to switch our group, you see."

Mandy looked hurt. Just behind her, Hermione saw Malfoy's eyebrows rise in amusement. "Oh," the Ravenclaw said.

"I'm sorry, Mandy."

"No no, it's not your fault!" Mandy amended quickly. "It's just, ah, I'll talk to Madame Pomfrey right now." And she dashed off to the professor's office, forgetting to knock completely before she entered. The last thing Hermione heard before the door shut was Madame Pomfrey's exclamation of surprise.

When she felt safe, Hermione exhaled, and then looked back at Malfoy, who was smirking. Again.

"So I guess we _are_ partners, then."

"Oh, don't be so cocky," Hermione snapped back. "You were just the lesser of two _very great_ evils."

He stared at her a beat longer, and then he simply laughed. Genuinely, for once. Hermione was taken aback. She couldn't remember a time when she had seen this side of him, not even with his friends. Malfoy wasn't one to be so carefree, so happy. And all this staring . . . Merlin, it wasn't his nature. What had changed?

He'd finished laughing now and was smiling at her warmly. She found that, despite herself and her very deep-seated anger, she couldn't help but smile back. Their exchange lasted for the briefest of moments. All at once, he seemed to snap out of it, and his infectious grin disappeared. He simply turned on his heel and swept out of the hospital wing, leaving her alone.

What a jerkface.

* * *

And thus concludes chapter seventeen. Did you love it? Hate it? Skim it? Please let me know by leaving a review!


	18. Chapter XVIII

I do believe this is the moment everyone has been waiting for. After this chapter, there are very few more to go (about five, I would say). I hope you all enjoy this one immensely, because I spent a very long time trying to get every bit of it right.

* * *

**Chapter XVIII**

Draco felt a sickening pleasure when he convinced Granger to become partners with him again, and he had to basically flee the room to hide his content. This was a second chance, he told himself over and over again on his way to the Great Hall. Maybe he could get her to change his mind about him, to consider him as a friend instead of an enemy.

"What's got you so . . . happy?" Pansy asked him distastefully when he sat down for dinner. He looked at her with shock. Oh, right. He still had a girlfriend.

"I showed up Granger in class," he lied smoothly, hoping that he didn't grin too broadly when he said the girl's name.

Pansy took him at his word, of course, and returned his smile. "See?" she said. "I knew you could show up that mudblood."

"She's not —"_a mudblood, _his mind finished. He stiffened. The words had nearly fallen out of his mouth. Hastily, he corrected himself: "She's not as bright as she makes herself out to be." That seemed better. Pansy pecked him on his cheek and returned to her meal.

Hot _damn_, that was close. However, Granger chose that moment to enter the Great Hall, and Malfoy became unaware of anything else.

Hermione did not notice; she was too preoccupied with scouring the Ravenclaw table for a sign of Mathais. Fortunately, when her eyes caught him, he seemed unharmed, even cheerful. He was talking rather animatedly with Cho Chang, and his hand brushed hers —

She paled.

Was he interested in Cho Chang? Hermione had to consciously stop herself from clapping a hand over her mouth in horror. No, no, it was nothing! They were probably close friends, like her and Harry. Like her and Ron. It didn't mean anything. Right.

Hermione was still trembling when she made it to Gryffindor's table, and she accidentally caught Mathias' eye when she glanced up at him. He winked at her and smiled. Oh, so maybe . . . maybe it _was_ fine, then.

_Stupid, stupid_, her mind screamed. _What reason has he ever given you to doubt him? _She began her dinner with a sheepish smile on her lips. Mathias was a good person, and he would never deceive her.

Dinner finished that night too soon for both her and a certain blond.

* * *

Draco had been counting down the hours until this class, when he would be partnered with Granger again. Pansy had wanted to walk with him to the hospital wing, for some reason, but he shook her off and told her he would see her at dinner. (He didn't question why he'd just chosen a bloody class over a snogging session.) So now he was trotting to the doorway, a grin threatening to split his face. He opened the doors . . .

And saw Granger conversing with Badeau.

Jealousy consumed him instantly and entirely, which was a surprise. Was his jealousy really that starved that it could take over his mind with one large swallow? He liked to think that he took better care of himself than that. Frozen, he stared at them for a moment longer. She was laughing, touching her hair . . . _Merlin_ she was chatting the bloke up. The thought almost made him gag. It was just frigging insane. Here he was, tossing away his reputation for her so they could be bleeding friends (_That's what you think_, his mind snorted), and she was busy batting her eyes at the prick. The sight made Malfoy want to smash his fist into something. Like Badeau's trachea.

Wow, he really had been learning in this bloody class.

Draco marched up to the pair of them, gritting his teeth to bear the sight. Granger saw him approach and immediately became defensive. "What are you looking at, Malfoy?"

He didn't want to answer her. He wanted to do other things. Maim and torture, to name a few. But, being the gentleman that he was, he cleared his throat and forcefully said, "Granger, can I talk to you . . . about the St. Mungo's trip?"

Her face turned from anger to surprise, and she stammered out, "Er, sorry. Of course." Granger waited for him to ask her something, and he waited for her to move.

"I meant alone," he finally explained.

"Alone?"

"Yes, are you bloody deaf, Granger? _Alone_." She immediately reverted to fury, ready for an argument, but he grabbed her elbow and yanked her forwards before she could speak.

"Where are you taking me?" she hissed, trying to squirm out of his grasp. He only clenched her elbow tighter. She twisted behind her and sent Badeau an apologetic look. "Malfoy!" she insisted.

"There's an open classroom just around the corner, alright?" He gave her arm one final tug, which effectively shut her up, though she hardly looked happy about the arrangement.

The classroom was entirely empty, save for a solitary teacher's desk positioned in front of an ancient blackboard. He half-shoved Granger into the clearing before shutting the door behind them.

"Malfoy," she practically whined, "what are you doing?"

He rolled his eyes and took a step towards her. She took a step back, whipping out her wand.

"Oh, _stop_ it!" he groaned. Then he pulled out his own wand and set it on the empty desk with a clatter. "There, look, I'm not going to hurt you. I'll leave my wand here."

"Fine," Granger agreed, still a bit suspicious. But her curiosity was beginning to win over; he could see it in the way her eyes lit up, the flecks of amber starting to come through —

Draco mentally face-palmed. He couldn't be thinking about her eyes again. Another gap in their (pathetic) conversation passed before Granger cleared her throat. "So, St. Mungo's," she began awkwardly, pocketing her wand.

This was it. He took a deep breath and said, "You shouldn't talk to Badeau anymore."

She stared at him. "What?"

"Don't talk to Badeau," Draco repeated.

Unfortunately, he hadn't realized that she was slowly puffing up with indignation. "What's it to you if I speak with him?" she snapped, rather inelegantly.

"He's not _good_, Granger. Stay away from him."

"You're just jealous!" she burst, and Draco very nearly jumped out of his skin at her accusation.

"No I'm not!" he retaliated childishly.

"Yes you are! You're jealous because people actually like him, and they don't like you!"

Oh. Draco relaxed momentarily, glad she didn't quite know. That is, until he realized the implications of her words. He bristled immediately. "What's _that_ supposed to mean, Granger?"

"Mathias may be poorer than you, Malfoy, but he's a better person — and you can't stand to see him make friends with people that won't have anything to do with you. You can't stand to see yourself bested by him, a servant-boy, a lowly, vile —"

"_Stop!_" he barked. She froze, mouth still open, and Draco seized his opportunity. "You're always bloody right, aren't you?" he snapped, completely fed up. She drew up her chin. "You always know what's best. You constantly bicker with me. You won't bloody leave me alone. Even when you're gone, all I can think about is what you might say to me next time, or what you'll do, and it's enough to drive me mad. Sometimes I think I am mad! Because despite everything my father tells me, and my friends, and even myself, I think I love you."

"And I hate — _excuse me_?" She opened her mouth to say something else, or maybe she was inhaling for a shriek, but Draco never gave her the chance. Suddenly, as if willed by another being, he took two paces forward, grabbed her shoulders, and crashed his lips into hers.

It was _heaven_. Her mouth was just as warm as he imagined, her body just as tender. Her hair tickled his cheeks as he pulled her closer. He fancied he could feel the very earth start to tremble under his feet — it was probably the result of his deceased relatives spinning in their graves like malfunctioning Sneak-o-Scopes. He'd half-expected that she'd slap him away, but she was only fumbling clumsily against him, and not very powerfully. To Draco, however, that single kiss was all he had ever wanted. Maybe now he could get her off his mind and live his life like he was expected to.

When he finally pulled away, breathing in the scent of her hair (vanilla and ink), the weight of the situation hit him head-on. He had just kissed her, Hermione Granger, the best mate of Harry Potter, the girl who could do no wrong, the queen of mudbloods everywhere. And he had done it with tongue.

His mouth was suddenly as dry as Snape's humour. He tried to calm himself — a difficult task when your stomach is reeling — as he slowly took a step back to face off with Granger's rage.

And Merlin, she did look _livid_. Her wand appeared out of thin air as she pointed it at his throat. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" she panted wildly. "Is this some kind of joke?"

He didn't understand at first. She thought he would stoop to snogging as a prank? And since when was kissing him such a crime? He was Draco _Malfoy_, for Merlin's sake, not some poor dolt like Weasley. She should be thanking her lucky stars that he even showed an interest in her.

"If you didn't enjoy it, Granger, then why are you having such a hard time catching your breath?" he taunted lightly, a small smirk flashing across his features.

Her eyes narrowed, and she jabbed him in the neck with her wand. It was about this time that Draco realized his own wand was resting two full arm-lengths away and the girl that he had just kissed looked about ready for blood.

Bugger.

"_Locomotor mortis_!" His legs snapped together, and he toppled backwards onto the floor, his back smacking against the ground in a most unflattering and painful manner. "You! Stay!"

"Not like I can —"

"_Silencio_!"

And now he couldn't even scream when she began the torture. Fan-bloody-tastic. Despite his racing blood (he liked to pretend it was because of his imminent demise, and not from the kiss) he stared up at her evenly. Granger was pacing in front of him, chewing her lip and twisting her wand between her fingers. Even the sparks that flew out on occasion looked jumpy.

And then she turned to glare at him, and his breath caught. Since she knew so much, he wanted to ask her why he still felt deliriously happy when she met his eyes, but he couldn't quite find the words to say it. More importantly, he couldn't produce sounds.

"How dare you even try to kiss me?" she demanded furiously. He hoped it was a rhetorical question. "How dare you try and find your happiness, when you have ruined the happiness of so many others?"

Wait . . . _what_?

Hermione noticed that his frown disappeared, and his face became — how could she put it? — puzzled.

Puzzled, like he was innocent.

Yeah, and she was the tooth fairy.

"While we're on the subject of Mathias," she began nastily, "let me refresh you on his history. Mathias' family used to work for your father. He was set to inherit, if you will, his father's position as the head of your household. When Mister Badeau died early, however, your father practically adopted Mathias. He had a soft-spot for him, and you, the only child, longed to be the only object of affection yet again. You stole money from your father's personal safe, and you hid some of it in Mathias' things, making sure that Lucius found out. Mathias was kicked out of the house, wholly disinherited and left to fend for himself."

Malfoy's face had gone from puzzled to sheet white, and Hermione took some satisfaction from it . . . but she was not finished with him yet.

"And then there's the matter of Susan and Blaise." At the mention of his friend, Malfoy's countenance flashed through a series of emotions that she couldn't quite catch. Suspiciously, she told him, "Have you not noticed how utterly _destroyed_ Susan has been the past couple weeks? How unhappy? I know it was you who told Blaise not to date Susan. After all, she is only half-blood, and that isn't good enough for someone like Blaise. And you, being such a good friend, haven't even seen Blaise's _own_ sadness. No, nobody else deserves any joy in your book, do they, Malfoy?"

There. That had been everything weighing on her mind for the past few weeks. Utterly spent, Hermione rubbed her temple and exhaled slowly. "Well? What have you got to say for yourself?" she asked him quietly.

He opened his mouth and raised his eyebrow. Ah, touché. "_Finite Incantum_," Hermione said, her voice trembling.

"Thanks for that," he spat. Draco took his sweet time rubbing the soreness out of his legs so that he could at least _attempt_ to squelch some of his rage. Granger had not only accused him of being a liar, a thief, and a manipulative bastard, but she had also insulted his very upbringing. Needless to say, he was bloody pissed, her kiss be damned.

"So, is that it?" he hissed. "Is that really what you think of me?" She truly had no idea what he was like, even after all of this time together. Still sore, he glared at her as he pulled himself to his feet. "Well let me ask you _this_, Miss Perfect: Would you ever have considered dating me in the first place? Would you have liked me if you hadn't learned of my failings? Or are you too flawless, too high and mighty for an 'evil git' like me?"

"You didn't even ask me for permission, Malfoy!" she burst, causing him to start. "You just . . . you assaulted me! Harassed me!" Granger breathed in deeply, and then sent him a glare that pierced straight into his heart. "Why would you even believe that I would _ever_ say yes to you now?"

Something inside of him withered so quickly that he felt nauseous. Hollow, even. She was still staring at him with unveiled malice. That was when it struck him — she really _did_ hate him. Like, a _lot_. He wondered absently if she felt this way about anyone else, or if she saved all of it for him. It almost made him feel special. But mostly, he felt crushed.

"Are we done, then?" Draco asked frigidly.

She raised her chin. "I was done with you a long time ago." With that, she pocketed her wand and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

There we go, the first kiss! I know it's not _typically _what everyone pictures when they think of Dramione... but hey, all the better to work with. As a side note, this is quite possibly one of the most well-read stories of mine: over 150 story alert messages, and over 200 reviews. Keep 'em coming; I love reading how you all feel about this story! Thanks!


	19. Chapter XIX

Yay, another chapter! I don't know what else to say, haha, except this is the beginning of the end of the story! Only a few more chapters!

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**Chapter XIX**

Hermione, trembling, felt the door click shut behind her. She glanced towards the hospital wing before making up her mind and starting towards Gryffindor Tower. She couldn't fathom going through class sitting next to such an outstanding tosser. That was what she told herself, at least. She was actually anything but murderous. She was downright sick. All of her emotions had escaped her in a nauseating surge after he'd kissed her . . . oh, Merlin, he had _kissed_ her! Hermione brushed her lips at the memory, shame burning her fingertips. He'd had the gall to kiss her, after everything he'd done to make her and her friends miserable. Malfoy was so selfish, so horrible, so . . . so . . . .

The walk to the common room went quickly — indeed, she could hardly remember any of it — and she found herself shutting the curtains of her four poster bed before she had even realized she was in her room. After a silencing charm, she crumpled into the mattress, sobbing her heart out.

The cause of this anguish was still sitting in the empty classroom on the opposite side of the school. His back was against the oak of the ancient teacher's desk, and he was absently twirling his wand between his fingers as he thought.

No, he had never meant to kiss her, but that wasn't what was bothering him. (Of course it wasn't, because that part had been smashing.) It was Granger's _words_ — they turned in his head, over and over, nearly making him dizzy. It wasn't surprising that Badeau had fed her so many lies. He'd heard the rumours the boy had started; of course Granger would believe them. That was no one's fault but Badeau's, and it was something Draco could explain away. But . . . how could he have known that the Hufflepuff really felt that way about Blaise? She never seemed to show preference. Did he look like a bloody mind-reader? His vehemence did him no good, though. Draco felt miserable. Not only had he hurt his best friend, but he'd unwittingly hurt a relative stranger, and without reason. And then there was Granger . . .

_You just . . . you assaulted me! Harassed me!_

Draco had done just that, hadn't he? He'd been so malicious. And for what? Because she made some off-handed comment about him on the first day? About happiness? Was that really what this was all about?

_Why would you even believe that I would _ever_ say yes to you now?_

_Idiot!_ Draco pressed the heel of his palm into his temple, his jaw clenched. Had he honestly ruined his chance before he even knew it existed? He had to set things straight, that's what. Even if she wouldn't even look at him now, he'd done more harm to her than good. It was time to make things right.

This thought in mind, he stumbled his way back to class, hunched and defeated.

Only Granger wasn't there. Her bag lay abandoned, and Madame Pomfrey was at the front of the class, reviewing the notes from the last meeting. His entrance had interrupted, and the teacher firmly planted her fists on her hips.

"Mister Malfoy, where have you been?" she asked sternly. However, when he met her eyes, her expression faintly softened. "What happened?"

"I . . . I was talking to Gr-Hermione. She, er, didn't feel well. I think she went back to Gryffindor Tower."

"I see," she said, pursing her lips, but otherwise impassive. "Thank you for telling me, Mister Malfoy. You may have a seat."

He stared at her, still miserable but now surprised as well. "I'm not getting a detention?"

She smiled softly. "No, not today."

But that didn't make class any more bearable for him.

And Hermione was still in her room, racked with sobs. She couldn't even guess where they came from. She was happy, wasn't she? But no, she couldn't be. Not if she was acting like this. If she wasn't happy . . . she felt . . . well, she didn't know _what_ she felt, except for a sort of helplessness, as if she couldn't take another step without someone telling her to take it. The whole idea was silly, really. There was no reason for her to be miserable — and Hermione wasn't a child.

So what was _wrong_?

She scrambled to collect her thoughts, but they seemed to scatter with every gasp she took. Finally, exhausted and emotionally-drained, she curled around her pillow and fell into a fitful sleep.

Hermione awoke in the middle of the night to a faint tapping on the window. Someone must have dispelled the Silencing Charm — well enough, since she had to wake up the next morning to an alarm. The girls could be annoying on occasion, but they were thoughtful.

Although she was still drained, Hermione roused herself to go investigate the noise, hoping that it hadn't woke her yearmates. It didn't take long; she merely slid open the curtains and found the source. An owl was tapping on her window. Grumbling about untimely mail, she shuffled towards the window and let it in.

It wasn't a school owl, she noticed immediately. Of course, it wouldn't be at this hour . . . but the owl before her was so distinctive, she marvelled at it for a moment. That is, until she remembered what time it was. "Shame on you," she told it, and it hooted softly in apology before holding out its leg, where it held a drawstring bag. She took it, and it silently glided into the night. After watching it soar away, Hermione fixed her gaze on the bag, which was lit by the moonlight. It was a deep purple colour, and the velvet was heavy and warm in her hands.

Treading softly, she returned to her bed, drew the curtains and recast the silencing charm, along with a light charm. Only then did she open the bag and dump out its contents. One piece was a bundled set of parchment, no bigger than her pinkie finger. Instead, Hermione lifted a folded piece of parchment, obviously a letter, and opened it.

Malfoy's handwriting stared back at her.

And, though she couldn't explain why, Hermione anxiously began to read his words.

_Granger,_ it began, _don't burn this before you've finished reading it. The class notes from today are in the bag, shrunk. We only had to read chapter nine for homework. I was going to give it to you at dinner, but you weren't there._

_That's not everything I have to say. Just keep reading until the end. (Pretend it's a book or something.)_

_I know I've been acting like a complete arse lately —_

"That's an understatement," she mumbled.

— _but, after what happened today in the classroom, I can't help but feel that I owe you an explanation. You accused me of two things: one was breaking up Blaise and the Hufflepuff girl; the other, getting rid of Badeau from my house by framing him. I'm going to tell them both to you. (And I know that you can be quite stubborn about these things. Like, honestly, really _really_ stubborn. Try not to be. Everything I'm going to say is one hundred percent true; I swear on my own name.)_

_The situation with Blaise is, unfortunately, somewhat true. I _did_ tell Blaise not to date the girl, but it was not for the reasons that you said. I've known Blaise for a long time. Ever since second year, he'd fancy one girl for a month or two, then pick another. Each time, he fancied that he was in love. I thought that this was one of those times. On top of that, I was not aware that your friend fancied _him_. To me, she seemed to treat him like she treated everyone else: with kindness, and nothing more. I have not noticed her sadness. I have only noticed Blaise's, and I can tell you, it hurts me still that I had to tell him that she wasn't right for him. If this girl is your friend, however, I trust that you would know her feelings better than I would. I'm sorry if I've made her unhappy. Believe me when I say that I was not trying to make her upset, but trying to save my friend from an embarrassing situation._

_Now, Badeau. Yes, I hate him, but I have good reason to. I don't know what he's told you about _me_, but I will now tell you something that I have not spoken of outside of my family. (Please don't tell Potter or Weasel.) Badeau's family worked for the Malfoy family for generations, and when Badeau was born, my father imagined that he would be working for me when we grew up. Sadly, Badeau's father became ill and died when we were very young, and my father took Badeau into the house to raise him. For a long while, things were normal. But, eventually, my family started to lose more and more valuables around the house. Only when my mother found Mathias stealing money from my father's safe did we figure out where everything had gone. Badeau had sold it in Knockturn for spending money, and he would use it all on black magic items. Disappointed in him, my father paid to send him to a boarding school, hoping that he would mature. He was kicked out almost immediately, again for stealing, and he transferred to Hogwarts second year. Even now, he attends school only because my father pays to keep him here. He is a liar and a thief, and hardly deserves anything my father gives him. If I had my way, I'd cut him off immediately, but Father says that Badeau's own father was too good a wizard for us to ignore his son. If you want to check my story, you can speak to Blaise himself, as he knew Badeau before, as well. You'd probably believe him more than me anyways._

_I think that was everything you mentioned earlier. You're probably wondering why I didn't just tell you in the room. Honestly, I was too shocked to say much of anything. (That, and I thought you'd curse me again.) Knowing you, you won't believe everything straight away besides. Just remember what I've written — I know you're smart enough to figure out the truth eventually._

_I'd just like to add, I'm sorry._

_Draco Malfoy_

His name was composed in that same beautiful handwriting she hated him for. But, in reality, she could hardly focus on his penmanship. His confessions plagued her mind. They were all _wrong_. They had to be all _wrong_. His words had torn open the wounds from that afternoon, and she nearly burst into tears again. How could he not see that Susan loved Blaise? It was plain from the beginning! And everything he had said about Mathias was fabricated, it had to be. Everyone knew that Malfoy had framed him to get rid of him. The entire school knew.

So, the second time she read the letter, she was fuming. She could imagine him saying each word, creating these stories just to placate her so she wouldn't speak to Mathias. He was so selfish! Hermione hardly finished before she threw it at the foot of her bed and tried to fall back to sleep. Yet, not even ten minutes had passed before she was frantically reading it again. This time, she looked for inconsistencies, flaws.

There really were none.

But that was ludicrous. This was Malfoy; of _course_ he'd only write this to save himself from looking like a fool. Right?

Perturbed, she scoured every word about Mathias and his strange upbringing. It was startling how some of Malfoy's story _matched_ what she had been told by the Ravenclaw, until she came to the point of stealing. She tried to recall what Mathias had said about his life afterwards, but she could only remember vague ideas. In fact, she knew very little about him.

Hermione read the story again. Malfoy didn't disguise his hatred for Mathias at all; his tone was as despicably pretentious as usual. But was he really telling the truth? So she thought — when had she seen Mathias do a kind act for anyone? He'd helped her with his books . . . but otherwise? Honestly, she'd never even heard of him before this year. Hermione never saw him with friends, never knew what his interests were. Suddenly, she realized she didn't know him at all.

Was he even worth her trust?

But Malfoy had cursed him, that she remembered. Or was that it at all? Hermione frowned at the letter, recalling how confused Malfoy had looked when it happened, and how he hadn't even fought his punishment — highly unusual for him. What's more, he was hardly the type of person to hurt another in front of a teacher, no matter how cruel he might be. (She had all of her experiences being pranked to attest to that.) Malfoy was much more discreet. So, then, what _had_ happened?

The image of Mathias' lips moving right before Malfoy cast the spell popped into her mind. Had Mathias . . . ? Had he really cast that spell himself?

Everything clicked into place. Malfoy was telling the truth about Mathias.

Hermione's first instinct was to swear, but she ignored that. She should have realized before, really. Why would Malfoy have offered Blaise as support if he was lying? And, now that she considered it, hadn't Mathias said that he would never spread stories about Malfoy? And yet he must had told the entire school about it, if the rumours were true.

She'd been so blind, she wanted to scream. Now that she had learned of Malfoy's honesty in the second confession, Hermione returned to the story about Susan and Blaise. It was as if she saw his account in an entirely different light. Hadn't she herself noted that Susan was kind to everyone, without regard for herself? The only reason that Hermione knew about the Hufflepuff's crush was because she overheard her during class, after all. So, then, how could Malfoy had known? And, if he knew Blaise to be a hopeless romantic, of course he'd want to help his friend. He wasn't that heartless . . . .

Exhausted beyond words, Hermione fell back onto her pillows, mind bogged down with so many thoughts, she could hardly see straight. One thought in particular fought its way to the surface, and she glanced at the scroll with a puzzled frown.

Yes, he'd apologized.

But he didn't take back saying _I love you_.

* * *

My attempt at the letter scene. I did my best, and I edited and re-edited, but I can't help but think it can't compare to Austen's. (shrug) Well, I'm satisfied still. Are you? Please review!


	20. Chapter XX

It's been a long time, huh? Please don't worry; this story will be completed even if I have to ignore classwork, haha. Things are beginning to wrap up anyways. I hope that you all enjoy this next installment.

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**Chapter XX**

She had hardly slept, though that came as no surprise. Most of Hermione's night had been spent trying to poke holes in Malfoy's explanations. She found quickly that they were iron-clad. That, and that she had been an idiot. Why hadn't she been able to swallow her pride and see him as he was? No, she had hidden behind her blind perceptions and ignored facts just so she wouldn't have to abandon her own judgment — one that she had formed before she really knew him at all.

And now that she knew he hadn't done those horrible things that she had accused him of (she was embarrassed merely _thinking_ about how she'd acted) it suddenly became hard to forget him. She hated admitting it, but she'd grown . . . _accustomed_ to him. After their week-long detention together, and their class work, and everything else, she had imagined that they might have developed some sort of accord. But now, it seemed as if things would return to their usual order.

Though she knew that she should celebrate that fact, what she was actually feeling was something closer to regret. In some perverse way, she'd come to think of him as more than just Malfoy — a friend, maybe. Would he be the same as he was before this all happened? Would he ignore her? Degrade her? Hermione was even more surprised to find that she was scared that he'd revert to his old self. No, not scared. _Terrified_. She didn't want to fight off Malfoy's quips, she wanted their interactions to be like they had been during detention.

Well, without her latent hatred. And the pranks. But still.

She fell asleep soon afterwards, her mind tinged with worry.

Draco picked at his breakfast the next morning, too preoccupied to do much of anything except nod whenever he was spoken to. The letter had definitely been written on a whim. Now that he had the time to think it over, he regretted every bit of it. Granger was stubborn. She would never believe him, not with her unnatural — _And disgusting_, he thought with a fleeting maliciousness — attraction to Badeau.

Inside, though, he still carried a scrap of hope that maybe his own relationship with her, after everything they'd done together, was just a bit stronger than he thought.

When she walked into the Great Hall, he ducked his head and wished he'd burned the letter instead.

Hermione also made a point not to look at the Slytherin table, though every part of her wanted to see if he was watching her. How would she be able to show him that she believed him? Did she even want to? She squelched the thoughts without mercy and sat across from her friends.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry said as he automatically passed her the tea. "It feels like it's been forever since I've seen you." It was true. Harry, Ron and Ginny had held Quidditch practice so many times the past few days, she only had time to greet them before they stumbled into their rooms to sleep.

"You're right. Have you done your homework?" She'd meant it to be serious, but Harry just laughed. Across from her, Ron awkwardly bumped her knuckles with his own.

"How've you been, Hermione? How's class with the prat?"

Ah, she knew exactly what he was talking about. She never had the chance to tell them about Malfoy's strange request, and she _certainly_ hadn't breached the whole sexual harassment bit. Summing up everything, she said, "Actually, I'm partnered with him."

"Again?" Ron burst, while Harry said, "You're joshing!"

She shook her head no.

As if on cue, Harry and Ron both lamented loudly and comically about the situation she had gotten herself into, mentioning his horrible personality and blinding paleness with such animosity she nearly laughed aloud. When they settled down, she shrugged and said, "He's not _that_ horrible. More of an annoyance, really. I've gotten used to it."

"I guess," Ron grumbled loudly, but Harry just shrugged his shoulders.

"Good luck, Hermione," he added.

She giggled and tucked in as Harry began to ask Ron another question about Quidditch.

"You and Draco would make a cute couple," Lavender interrupted musingly, as if a stray thought had escaped her mouth without her consent. Hermione almost choked on a piece of bread. Ron _did_ choke on a piece of bread.

"Are you barmy?" Harry asked while the other two sputtered and caught their breath.

"What?" Lavender asked innocently. "You know what they say: opposites attract."

"That's not really true," Hermione asserted. "And besides, Malfoy and I aren't really opposites. We're more of a . . . so-far-apart-we're-right-next-to-each-other kind of opposite."

"Yeah," Ron added. Then he blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Well, it sounded right in my head," Hermione defended weakly. She was beginning to blush, and she was too mortified to formulate her thoughts.

Lavender just smiled. "Right, Hermione. I believe you."

She would have protested further, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked up and saw familiar red hair. "Lay off her, will you? Hermione has to put up with enough mouth from that prat."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, inexplicably excited to see her. "It feels like weeks since you've been down to breakfast." The young girl laughed — it was no secret that she liked to sleep in as much as her older brother. Hermione was grateful for her interference, and she chatted warmly with her until it was time for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

They, of course, were still practicing non-verbal spells, but the class had grown more advanced with the passage of time. Now, instead of merely summoning eggs or casting defensive spells, they were expected to _anticipate_ spells with careful studies of wand movements and facial cues. Ron fancied pretending it was mind reading, but Hermione actually enjoyed watching the graceful movement of her partners as they cast spells. She'd never noticed how differently people moved performing a simple task. Ron's wand movements were tellingly sloppy, while Harry's always seemed hasty, as if he were performing them on instinct instead of consciously.

But she was not partnered with either of her friends, per Snape's demands. Instead, Hermione turned back to face Pansy with a small frown. They'd been practicing for a few minutes now, yet Hermione could already note with jealousy the personality that Pansy displayed in her wand use. The Slytherin's movements were silky and graceful, subtle enough to where Hermione could hardly guess what the girl was casting. And Malfoy, just behind her, moved with an elegant confidence that no other student matched. Secretly, Hermione knew that this must have been what they called "good breeding" in the wizarding world. It made her simple style look plain.

She and her partner proceeded mostly in silence, only acknowledging one another with monosyllables or curt nods. Strangely, despite the oppressive silence, and the fact that they didn't share a single pleasant word, Pansy seemed pleased. She had caught Malfoy's eye often, as his own were often turned to their side of the room. It had been awhile since he had paid her so much attention. Hermione met his gaze once, entirely on accident, and turned away almost immediately.

He did as well, flushing from embarrassment. He couldn't tell what she now thought of him, and it was maddening to no end. As of now, Draco was beginning to suspect that he'd been momentarily under the influence of the Imperius Curse when he'd written her. Or maybe he'd gone crackers, or something, because why on earth would a pureblood write an apology to a mudblood?

_Why would he willingly _kiss_ one?_ his mind smugly countered.

Well, regardless, he thought petulantly, the letter was sent, and only a cleverly-placed Obliviate would make her forget it. He'd even spoken to Blaise about the Bones girl already, and apologized for interfering. His mate seemed relieved — enough to make Draco feel that he'd done the right thing for once.

Huh, the _right_ thing. The Gryffindor do-gooder was bloody rubbing off on him now. Just to make himself feel better, he cast a rapid _Petrificus Totalus_ and chuckled as Longbottom hit the floor face-first. It really was the little things in life.

* * *

Hermione was so anxious about seeing Malfoy again, she left lunch early to ensure that she wouldn't arrive after him. Something about walking into the room, having him turn around and stare as she sat beside him — Merlin, it was right embarrassing. She needed time alone to get used to the thought.

Naturally, that involved Hermione propping open a book and reading as the other students slowly trickled in. Mandy was tittering at Mathias, who looked like he'd rather be at the bottom of the Great Lake than hear another word. Hermione fought back a laugh. In front of them, Lavender was suppressing yawns as Ernie detailed his aunt's work history. Susan and Blaise . . . . Hermione's jaw dropped, and she unconsciously lowered her book. There, right in front of her own desk, Blaise and Susan were flirting again. But didn't Malfoy admit that he'd broken them up? He couldn't _possibly_ have told Blaise already —

She didn't have much time to dwell on it before she saw Malfoy's blond hair through the hospital wing's windows. As nervous as Neville in Potions, she fixed her eyes on her work and told herself she would not look up. Knock on wood.

Draco was running a bit late, but he noticed with relief that Madame Pomfrey wasn't teaching when he stepped inside. And Granger was seated, head bowed, at their shared desk. (He had to swallow his heart so that it'd go back to its proper place.) With a feigned ease, he passed to his seat and reached for his chair.

She stiffened.

He stiffened as well, and glanced disconcertedly at her bushy head. So, she still hated him. It stung much more than he'd thought it would. And by stung, he meant it felt as if his heart was being ravaged by that bloody hippogriff one thousand times over. He'd gone through so much trouble — was _still_ going through so much trouble — just for her, and she couldn't even stand sitting next to him in class. Why did love have to be so damn hard on him? He'd rather take a bludger to the temple than cope with another one of her rejections. Actually, the more he thought about it, the better it sounded. Maybe if the bludger hit him hard enough, he'd be able to forget her altogether and move on with his life.

He was still contemplating this when Madame Pomfrey arrived at their table. "Mister Malfoy, why haven't you taken your seat?"

He glanced around the room and belatedly learned that he was the only one standing. "Er, sorry, Professor. Just thinking."

"You may think in your chair, Mr. Malfoy." Some of his classmates began sniggering. He immediately sank into his seat, avoiding all of their stares the same way Granger was avoiding his.

What he couldn't know was how eager Hermione was to hear his voice. What would he say? Did he want to talk about the letter, or was it too secret? Did he regret it? And what of Susan and Blaise? Had that really been his doing? She couldn't say if she dreaded the subject, or looked forward to it, but the silence between them was killing her.

Even so, they only spoke about the course work that day, hardly daring to meet each other's eyes. Draco's courage was failing faster than Goyle in Transfiguration, while Hermione was petrified that he'd reveal it was all a joke. Class ended before Draco finally gathered his nerves and spoke to her.

"Granger, what are you doing this Saturday?" he asked abruptly.

She still refused to look at him, but he ignored his tetchy heart. "This Saturday? Er, nothing. Why do you ask?"

The last bit sounded guarded. Draco raised an eyebrow. "We haven't gone to St. Mungo's," he supplied. "What did you think?"

"I . . . nothing, nothing." Hermione knew without a doubt that her face was reddening, and she ducked down her head to hide her fretfulness. (And why did she feel disappointed, anyways?) "What time did you want to go?"

They worked out the time while Hermione, flustered, gathered her things. She and Malfoy had barely reached an agreement to meet at ten before she fled, ignoring his call for her to wait. This . . . this . . . this _whatever it bleeding was_, was too much for her to handle. Indeed, Hermione could barely keep from screaming. So she went to the first place she could think of: the library. The peace and quiet would help her collect her thoughts. She had assignments to complete besides, though how she would manage to do them under such stress was a mystery.

Hermione unloaded her books and collapsed into the worn leather chair with a grateful sigh. Lavender was across the way, writing hurriedly for an assignment she'd undoubtedly put off. Hermione offered her a small wave, but left the girl to her own work. She herself pulled out her Defence Against the Dark Arts book and began to read.

It couldn't have been twenty minutes later when she heard Lavender's hushed giggling. Distracted, Hermione glanced up and was met with the strangest sight.

Malfoy was bent down next to Lavender, thumbing through the pages of the book while she watched. He was giving her the homework assignment? He was being _nice_? Hermione blinked a few times to see if it was just a hallucination, or if the world was coming to an abrupt and rather twisted end.

Apparently, it was the latter. Draco Malfoy was clearly helping Lavender with her homework. Actually helping. No snide remarks, no harmful intentions. Hermione vaguely wondered if Professor Snape was in his classroom giving Neville a pat on the back or something as equally insane. She watched Lavender say something and wink at him, and his responding smirk . . . her cheeks felt hot again, and Hermione quickly looked back at her text.

But that still didn't change the fact that he was helping Lavender — of all people — with her assignment. That, combined with Blaise's changed behaviour . . . . Had Malfoy really become someone different? Or maybe she was seeing the real Malfoy for the first time? Regardless, his new manner made her happier than she cared to admit. Worrying her lip, she made up her mind that the St. Mungo's trip would finally reveal the truth. She hurriedly gathered her things and rushed out of the library.

So, when Draco glanced up to approach her, as he had originally intended, she was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Yup, Hermione now is coming around. About time, right? haha. Anyways, thanks for reading, and please review!


	21. Chapter XXI

That's right! I'm not dead! Just horribly, horribly behind on this story, haha. But, if everything goes according to plan, there are only two more chapters after this one. Sorry if this one seems a bit rushed; it's more of a transition to the last two. I hope you all enjoy regardless!

**Chapter XXI**

At precisely nine fifty-three, Hermione stepped in front of the Great Hall's doorways, fastening the last button on her cloak. Even though she'd sat for thirty minutes in the common room in a desperate attempt not to be early, her natural punctuality outweighed her nervousness. So, instead of wringing her hands and nibbling her lower lip in peace and quiet, she was doing so in front of the passing late-risers.

"Hermione!" She turned a bit too sharply at the sound of her name. There, down the corridor, was Susan, beaming as she made her way towards her. Hermione smiled self-consciously and greeted her friend when she arrived by her side. "Aren't you excited?" Susan asked. "I've actually been looking forward to this trip all week."

"St. Mungo's?" It dawned on Hermione just then that Malfoy had never said they were going alone. So Susan and Blaise were to come with them on their observation. Frankly, she didn't know if she was disappointed or elated, but she smiled at Susan regardless. "I've never been to a magical hospital before," she admitted. "I'm rather looking forward to it, as well."

They chatted together until Susan pointed out Blaise and Malfoy making their way towards them.

And, for the life of her, Hermione had no idea why her stomach dropped the way it did.

Draco, on the other hand, was intimately familiar with the routine his own stomach performed. After all, it had been practicing since the beginning of the year. Back handspring, cartwheel, round off, into a back flip, into an aerial . . . he gulped and tried to forget about it, even though it was making him quite dizzy. He'd begged Blaise to ask Susan to come along with him and Granger right after he'd planned the trip. Why? He didn't know the answer himself.

But he knew one thing — he was _not_ afraid of being alone with her.

That was just _Blaise's_ opinion.

"What do you suppose they'll show us?" Draco's mate wondered aloud.

He was busy concentrating on taking one calming breath at a time, so he answered simply. "Dunno." Exhale. Now inhale. Good, excellent.

"Good morning Blaise, Draco," said Susan. Beside her, Granger smiled and repeated the sentiment, though a bit quieter. "Are you ready to go?"

He absently nodded, and while Blaise and Susan started off cheerily towards the exit, he lingered just a second longer at the Great Hall entrance with Granger.

"Did you —" he began in a rush, but his thought promptly disappeared, and he finished with a lame, "— finish your homework last night?"

He couldn't tell if she was puzzled or amused, but she answered, "Yes. I, er, finished the Defence Against the Dark Arts essay, as well." After a momentary pause, they simultaneously started towards the exit in silence.

Hermione tried her mightiest to appear calm. He'd asked Blaise and Susan to come with them, but why? Did he not want to be alone with her? And why on earth had he asked her about her homework?

(She didn't know that Draco was already kicking himself for that.)

"Are you two coming?" Blaise called over his shoulder. It was enough to bring them both back into reality, and they quickened their pace towards the exit, where the four of them proceeded trotted outside into the chilled November air. Nervously, Hermione watched her breath cloud around her in short bursts. It hadn't snowed yet, leaving the ground hard and the wind biting.

"Chilly, isn't it?" remarked her partner. She glanced at him and noted with some trepidation that Blaise and Susan had now fallen very far _behind_ them, talking excitedly together.

"Did . . . did you have anything to do with that?" she asked, tipping her head back to point out the other pair.

"Who me?" She rolled her eyes, and he grinned at her. "Why, of course not."

"Oh, stuff it," she grumbled, but Hermione couldn't help but smile back, their eyes meeting just long enough to make her blush.

Draco's heart nearly exploded when he saw it — those brilliant eyes dazzling him with their eagerness, their vivacity. Why? If she hated him so much — down to his very fingernails even — why would she smile at him like that? Like he was the only person that mattered to her?

Draco decided something just then:

She was absolutely maddening.

He would've hexed himself, but he was afraid St. Mungo's would commit him as soon as he stepped in the door.

Hogsmede was just around the corner, though, so he gathered his wits and paused to wait for the lagging couple, Granger stopping just at his side. They didn't speak, but he didn't feel uncomfortable with her, which was enough to make him feel incredibly uncomfortable.

"Do you think the trip will take long?" she asked him.

"Dunno." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to look at her.

They were to floo to St. Mungo's from one of the shops in Hogsmede directly to the hospital, and the trip brought them safe and sound right in the main hall. The reception room was a shimmering white, with a ceiling that must have been fifty feet high. Hermione silently marvelled at the sight as the group of them made their way to the front desk.

"We're students from Hogwarts," Malfoy announced without hesitation, "here for a tour."

The receptionist, a cheery redhead, smiled brightly at the four. "Ah, yes, this way. Mediwitch Crawfield will show you through St. Mungo's." She stepped quickly from the desk to a nearby corridor, leading them as she hummed "Charming You." Blaise and Susan were side by side, forcing Hermione and Malfoy to follow in suit.

"Mediwitch Crawfield is just through here." She opened the office door for the four of them and waved before taking her leave. The room was cramped, with books shoved on shelves, stacked on the desk, and even spilling onto the floor. The four stood in a nervous clump, waiting patiently for Crawfield to reveal herself.

"Is that you four?" A head poked out from the mound of papers on the desk chair. "I'm Mediwitch Crawfield, pleased to meet you." Hermione started to reply, but was immediately cut off. "We've got a lot of ground to cover. No time for explanations, hurry up." She shoved them out of her office, all the time talking about what they would see and do. Unfortunately, it was too much. Hermione could hardly keep up with the woman's furious speaking rate. She exchanged a sympathetic look with Draco, who in turn mouthed _Merlin_ and rolled his eyes.

However, despite Crawfield, the tour was interesting, but what was even more intriguing was the ease with which Blaise and Susan got along. Hermione was astounded. Only earlier that very week, Hermione had been convinced of the hopelessness of the match, yet all of her confidence had now returned full-force. She couldn't help but smile at Blaise's awkward gallantry. Susan, as she had expected, still fancied the boy immensely, and their acquaintance had hardly been hindered. It seems that Malfoy had actually taken her words to heart — however cruel she may have been.

Speaking of which, she had noticed that the blond was also acting much differently. Although a bit less confrontational than usual, she was amazed at his willingness to help her. Indeed, Malfoy barely left her side, offering to hold her things, pointing out basic that she wouldn't have understood because of her muggle upbringing. Otherwise, he remained silent, hovering just over her shoulder as if waiting to be called on.

"Are you tired, Malfoy?"

Draco nearly leapt out of his socks at the sound of her voice. After glancing around the corridor to see if they would be overheard, he whispered, "No. Why?"

"You, er, haven't spoken much. Or at all, really. It's not really . . . very _you_."

Startled, he tipped his head. She was concerned? For _him_? Imagine that. His chest began to brim with a warm bubbling feeling—the kind you have when you arrive at home, very late, and even though you're tired, you're in such good company that you stay awake as long as you can. He smirked, but he couldn't hide that warmth in his eyes. "Why Granger, have me figured out already, do you?"

"Not quite," she returned.

And she gave him that smile again.

_Merlin_.

Time flew for him, those hours with her felt like seconds, and they were already walking back to Hogwarts before Draco had fully recovered. He didn't want to leave her, he _didn't_, but he had to, and they parted ways with a hidden but mutual agenda to see each other again very soon.

Hermione plodded back into the Gryffindor tower feeling very warm and content, like a cat that had just finished a nap stretched in the sun. She only wanted to read a book until dinner to clear her thoughts.

"How was it?"

She snapped her head towards the couches, where Harry, Ron, and Ginny sat, almost accusingly. Well, not really, although she did suddenly feel that she was being interrogated. Was her face flushing? "Oh, the field trip?" she asked naively.

"No, the Quidditch match you just played," Ginny said sarcastically. "Of course the field trip!" Harry and Ron sniggered as Hermione glared at them.

"It went well. I thought it was very interesting how —"

"And Malfoy?" Ron interrupted. "Do I get to kill him?"

For a moment, Hermione didn't know what to say. "Er . . . no, of course not. He was . . ." — how could she put it? — "he was _nice_."

That solitary admittance caused all three of her friends to freeze.

"Nice?" Harry finally asked.

"For Malfoy," she amended to comfort them. "In any case, I have a bit more homework to do, so I'm going to go upstairs." They watched her walk upstairs, but she pretended to ignore them, focusing more on which book she'd pick up.

After finding _First Impressions_ in her trunk, she climbed into her bed and drew the curtains around her. Hermione cracked open the book and began to think about Malfoy.

She really couldn't help it. He'd never left her mind, not during the hospital tour, and certainly not when she was being grilled by her friends. He'd been away from her for maybe fifteen minutes now . . . and she _missed_ him. She wanted to see him _more_. She wanted to laugh with him, to spend time with him, and study together, and — and —

If any of the other girls had been in the room, they would have heard her gasp in horror.

No. It couldn't be true. There was no way.

Well, fine, she'd allow (albeit grudgingly) that she respected him now. She thought him even perversely courageous for admitting his mistakes, and going as far to correct them. Possibly she even admired him, just a bit.

But there was no way, in heaven or in hell, that she _fancied_ him.

As soon as she thought the word, her heart skipped, and even let out a tiny whoop.

"Bugger," she moaned before burying her head in her pillow. She _did_ fancy him. Like a lot. No, she hadn't meant to, not at all. It had just sort of . . . _happened_. Stubbornly, she tried to recall what had caused her so much hatred in the first place, but for every bad memory she summoned from the past, a new, fresh memory overshadowed it completely. She could even feel herself grinning.

"Wait 'til Harry and Ron find out," she groaned to herself. Inwardly, Hermione thanked Merlin then and there that her two best friends were twice as thick as posts, and she quickly continued to read, troubled about what the next week would bring.

* * *

Yup, and she's in love too. Now how will all of this become resolved? Wait and see! :D


	22. Chapter XXII

Yay, I'm alive! Yes, I know it's been forever. I actually just graduated college, so you can imagine how busy that's been. But I've promised to finish this, and then keep on writing-I'm sticking to that! This chapter is the second to last, so I hope you like it! I don't know how well I like it, but I know that I love what I have so far for the ending chapter, so I hope you all will love it too!

* * *

**Chapter XXII**

Hermione was out-of-sorts the next morning. After pouring honey on her eggs and buttering her spoon, she gave up on any sort of eating and instead resorted to brooding over a glass of pumpkin juice. Those bloody _feelings_ she'd so stubbornly tried to squelch the night previous had only grown, and when she wasn't playing with the ends of her hair, she was consciously trying not to look at the Slytherin table. This involved a lot of staring at her fingernails. Harry repeatedly asked her if she was too tired to walk with them as they had planned, and Ginny tried her best to sneak her a biscuit, but Hermione wouldn't have any of it.

"I'm fine, really," she assured Ginny as the girl pressed a jellied biscuit into her hand. "I'm just not hungry."

This fact was beyond the youngest Weasley, who had only ever seen her brothers eat their feelings. "You have to have something!" Then, in a quieter voice, she added, "This doesn't have to do with your field trip, does it?"

Poker was not Hermione's strong suit for a reason. Her face turned a shade of red startlingly similar to the raspberry jelly that was now dripping on her hand.

At first, the younger girl seemed confused by her reaction, but she wasn't dull in any sense of the word. It took all of two seconds for her to realize that Hermione had not lied last night — she'd actually dumbed down the truth. Ginny's smile became devious, and Hermione's face went from red to sheet white. "So, Malfoy was 'nice', was he?"

Desperate, Hermione glanced Harry's way to see if he was otherwise occupied, but luck was not on her side. He seemed just as interested, though not so sly. "He _did_ do something to you, didn't he?"

"I'll bet he did!" Ginny not-so-subtly added.

Hermione rose abruptly. "I'm leaving."

"Oh no you're not!" The redhead yanked her back down in her seat. "Spill!"

Harry was beginning to look like he'd made a wrong turn down a dark alley. "Maybe she doesn't want to —"

"What's going on between you two? I've heard some rumours, but I didn't want to believe them. Does he really fancy you?"

"What?" Now Ron was in on the conversation. Fantastic. "Herm — that git, he — _what_?" Beside him, Harry was gaping like an owl.

"No, no! No, he . . . I . . . er, he has a girlfriend."

All three of her friends, who couldn't say enough moments ago, fell silent. Harry's jaw was slack, and Ron had forgotten about the sausage that was lifted halfway to his mouth. Ginny looked torn between rage and delight. It was then that Hermione wished more than ever that she could Disapparate on Hogwarts' grounds. That had been her defence? Pansy Parkinson? She would have been better off pointing out that she was muggle-born. Or even laughing in their faces.

"Er, I have to go." Hermione then, quite appropriately, turned and fled the room. She could hear Ron and Harry clamouring to come after her, so as soon as the doors to the Great Hall closed, she turned in the exact opposite direction that she would normally pursue: instead of heading for the library, she headed to the Divination tower.

Draco had watched the bushy-haired Gryffindor run out of the room like a dragon was nipping at her heels with mild interest. The obvious distress of her so-called mates only added to his curiosity. To be honest, their faces were rather comical as they scrambled to follow her. Weasley was strawberry-red at this point, and Potter was shaking enough to stir a potion. Idly, he wondered what could have caused such a commotion.

He toyed with the thought that it was over the field trip yesterday. After all, those bumbling oafs could be quite possessive of their homework pass at times, and missing her for almost an entire Saturday surely cost them an essay or so. Not to mention that she was with _him_ for that time.

The thought brought back a tingling warm feeling in his stomach. He drank some pumpkin juice to calm it.

* * *

They had found her. She didn't know how, but they had.

(Ginny had known where she had gone all along. Of the three, she best understood Hermione's logic. To Hermione's chagrin, Ginny also happened to enjoy using her own logic against her at times.)

So instead of having time to think in the Divination tower, she had been intercepted on her way there by her two possessive best mates.

"He could be _using_ you," Harry was saying.

Ron added, "He's probably plotting something right now!"

Hermione made a valiant effort to hide her eye-roll. "He's not really like that."

"How would you know?"

"How would _you_?" she amended. "Have either of you spoken to him recently? Owled him?" They were staring at her as if she were raving instead of politely pointing out the obvious. "I didn't just wake up one day and decide that he was a decent bloke. He's proven it."

"It's a trick!" Ron insisted. "It's a trick and I forbid you to fancy him!"

That did it. Hermione swelled with indignation, even while she was blushing furiously. She didn't care if Ron was one of her best mates in the entire world — she could handle herself, and she was sick of being told otherwise. "Ron," she started, trembling with pent-up anger and embarrassment, "sometimes you . . . you can be such an _idiot_!" Instead of slapping him, which is what she really wanted to do, she turned on her heel and stomped away.

Harry and Ron watched her go in silence. They then shared a look that said that they were too frightened of her fury to pursue her this time around. Instead, the two began to wander back to the Great Hall to finish breakfast.

"She doesn't _really_ fancy him, right?" Ron asked, with more hope than necessary.

Harry shrugged. "I don't want to think about it," he admitted.

The redhead nodded thoughtfully. They were nearing the Great Hall, and their footsteps slowed. "I still can't believe she called me an idiot," Ron absently added.

"Well if the shoe fits, Weasel." They whirled. It was, of course, none other than Draco Malfoy, who was watching them with an oddly bemused quirk of his lips. He was also alone. Harry and Ron exchanged glances again. This particular look said, _You pin his arms, and I'll punch._

"What has Granger fit to tie?" he said conversationally. "Has she finally figured out her two best mates have been using her for the past few years?"

Draco had expected many things from Potter and Weasley, one of which was getting his arms pinned behind his back while the other punched him in the gut. Hell, he wouldn't have been too terribly surprised if Scarhead caught a snitch while the Weasel dribbled on his chin. What he absolutely did _not_ expect was the matching looks of horror the two gave him.

But there they were.

He felt dumb, but he had to ask. "What?"

"You . . . Hermione . . . _no_!"

It wasn't an answer by any means. Leave it to a Weasley. "Do you fancy me or something?" Draco asked as he raised a fine eyebrow.

"Oh, stuff it!" Weasley practically screamed, making as if he would tackle him, but Potter intervened even while the other continued to shout. "You know what I mean, Malfoy!"

"This may shock you, but I actually have no bloody idea what you're on about," he said, examining his fingernails nonchalantly.

It was then that Potter chimed in, demanding, "Leave Hermione alone, that's what!"

That caught Draco's attention, and his breath, too. So that spat earlier _was_ about him? He hardly knew what to think. His mind had slowed down to a crawl, but thankfully, it was still much faster than theirs. "Leave her alone? I haven't done a thing." He said it smoothly and cautiously, the same way the groundskeeper might have talked to his monthly poor-excuse-of-a-pet.

"Liar!" Weasley shouted.

"You're the reason she left the Great Hall," Potter added. "You're . . . _confusing_ her! Stop it!"

Seriously? The only confused people seemed to be the ones standing in front of him, fighting each other while staring him down. They still hadn't bothered to try and attack him, even though he was perfectly alone. And besides, when was Hermione Granger ever confused in the first pl . . . oh.

_Oh_.

He rather liked this.

"Let me get this straight," he started levelly, barely managing to contain his smile. "Your little dictionary fancies _me_?"

"No!" they both shouted vehemently.

"Then why confront me in the first place?"

This gave the others pause. Draco nearly rolled his eyes. "Never mind," he said. "I've better ways to spend my time than with you two idiots. When you figure out what you want to say, send me an owl." With that, he strode past them towards the dungeons.

But to Draco, he felt as if he were flying, head in the clouds, without a care in the world. He'd begun to hope like he'd never hoped before. If what she had said to them had inspired that little exchange with those two trolls, there must have been something to say about her regard for him. It was a risk, but Draco finally believed that the odds were in his favour. He smiled to himself, and that warmth sprung up again. Although he didn't have any pumpkin juice this time around to cool himself, he didn't mind. Draco didn't want this feeling to ever leave him again.

He only had one small obstacle.

It attached itself to his side as soon as he entered the common room, begging for his attention. "Draco! Will you help me with my potions essay? Please?"

Draco had never realized how much he disliked Pansy Parkinson until that very moment. He glanced over at her, all distraction, and couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever seen her. The _real_ her. Her sleek hair was much too short, her nose upturned in constant disdain, and when she smiled, it never reached her eyes. What was the word?

Fake.

Funny, he'd never thought that it would have mattered before. But now everything she did was simply grating. And this the girl he was going to marry? She had no charms, no wit. And, if he was being completely honest, she was a bit . . . _mean_. It made him appreciate Hermione that much more.

In the recesses of his mind, he began to formulate his breakup with one Pansy Parkinson. It would have to be a clean break, with plenty of witnesses so that she wouldn't maim him. (He certainly knew her capable of it.) The thought kept him up all night, but whenever he felt himself to be too tired to continue, the mere thought of Hermione's behaviour on the field trip renewed his drive. He'd stopped questioning this a long time ago, and instead let himself be carried, higher and higher, until the warmth this time touched the roots of his hair.

His courage faltered at breakfast that Monday, but by lunch he had regained his bearings and could wait no longer. All it took was a deep breath, expelled through his mouth, teeth and lips, forming those words that crumpled her face almost immediately.

"Why?" she said.

_I fancy someone else. Someone who doesn't purse her lips whenever I open my mouth. _"I don't want to date you anymore," he said instead. It sounded fine in his head, but he saw anger flash in her eyes and immediately stepped back. "Sorry. You can find someone better." _If you create my clone_. When she began to cry, he took it as his cue to exit, and rather hastily at that.

"W-where are you going?" she demanded, so shocked by his impartiality that her tears momentarily halted.

Draco didn't even glance over his shoulder as he said, "I'm going to the library."

"Wait," she called, and he obliged her, impatiently crossing his arms.

"What?"

She didn't waste any more of his time. She took two steps forward and punched him square in the nose.

* * *

Hope you guys liked it! Next chapter is the last. Will they get together? (Yeah, like there's a question.) Anyways, please review!


	23. Chapter XXIII

**Chapter XXIII**

The Great Hall exploded when Pansy's fist connected with his face. Everyone that was left at the Slytherin table was jeering, and all of the other remaining students were scrambling to get a good look. Not that he could see any of this—Draco's eyes were watering with the pain, and his hand instantly flew to his face to check for blood. Pansy was screeching something unintelligible. Crabbe and Goyle were faithfully holding her back so she couldn't get in another hit.

"Pansy, you — you —" He was too well-bred to call any society girl a scheming bloody twat with a right hook destined for muggle boxing. He checked for blood again with more fury than necessary.

"We're through, Draco Malfoy!" she screamed. "Good luck finding someone who will put up with your heartlessness!"

"Don't worry — as long as she's not like you, I'll be well off!" Hand still clutching his nose, he stomped off, still determined to go to the library before class.

"If I recall correctly, she's slapped you before!"

He didn't hear that last comment from his now-ex, but Cho Chang did. She told the very first person that she saw in the corridor, Parvati, the entire story of the break-up. Parvati, of course, went immediately to her best friend and spilled everything. Lavender smiled and nodded while she heard the details. And, when it was done, she immediately sought out the one person that absolutely needed to know.

This person was absently walking to her healing magic class, her thoughts on class.

"Hermione, thank Merlin!" she gasped as she caught up to her. "Have you heard? It's all over the school!"

"What is?" piped up a nearby second-year, stopping short of her classroom.

Lavender shot the girl a scathing glare. "The roof," she said coldly. "Now hurry to class before you're late."

"But —"

"Go on!" She guardedly watched the younger girl go, the same way a mother might watch her child leave the room before talking about "adult" things. Hermione doubted Lavender's intention was any different.

"Draco broke up with Pansy," she declared as soon as the second-year was in the classroom. "Just during lunch."

Hermione's first thought, strangely enough, was one of flattery. Had he really broken up with Parkinson because of what she had told him, so long ago? But, sharply, her feelings recoiled into disgust. No, it had nothing to do with her. Of course not. Draco Malfoy only ever did things for himself. He couldn't still be concerned about her, right? But the field trip . . . . Flushed slightly, she muttered, "Why should I care?"

"You're joking," Lavender insisted. "You know he did it for you."

Hermione's breath caught, but she hardly wanted to show it. "He did?" she ground out. "W-what makes you think that?"

"Because, Miss Know-it-all, that bloke is in love with you!"

All she could do was stare.

"Oh, you can be so dense," Lavender muttered to herself. To Hermione, she said, "Listen, he broke up with Pansy because your two mates had a talk with him."

"Who?" Hermione asked blankly.

"Your mates Harry and Ron! Remember them?"

Oh. Well_ that_ figured. She didn't know whether she wanted to smack them both over the head or laugh at their idiocy. By confronting him, of course, they had unwittingly let him know of her sentiments. "I can't believe it," she muttered, flushing a bit.

"Well, besides all that, see, I heard from Parvati that Cho Chang herself was in the Great Hall when the whole break up happened. Pansy even punched him in the nose!" They were now making their way to class as Lavender filled her in on the smaller details. It was almost difficult to concentrate, such were her feelings. Inside, she was overwhelmed with a persistent, overflowing thrill, like what she felt on a roller coaster. Her face was undoubtedly flushed. She resisted covering her cheeks, and she certainly resisted smiling like a fool. He had done it for her.

. . . And then nothing.

In class, he merely sat there, eyes trained on his desk. When she spoke to him, he even mumbled —_mumbled_, as if Malfoys had been doing it for _years_. The shock hurt more than she had anticipated. Hermione found herself staring at him and had to force herself to turn away. Had she read too much into his actions? Why had he broken up with Pansy? Had it all been a joke? A cruel joke? Her lip started to tremble, so she busied herself with her books.

His thoughts had followed much the same path when she turned away, but he had one thing Hermione didn't — hope. Draco, after all, wasn't blind. He'd seen the way she acted on the field trip, and knew her well enough to understand that if she hated him, she would have shown it. Potty and Weasel's little speech had proved it as well.

Right?

He ran a hand through his hair and doodled around his (featureless) notes. The library had been no help earlier. He then had asked for permission to go to Diagon Alley for supplies and Snape, with only a quirk of his brow, signed the release for Thursday evening.

Class on Wednesday was much of the same, with him trying to evade her frowns in both DADA and Healing. Was she frowning because she was upset with him? He couldn't tell, but she didn't say much to him, and he said even less to her. Draco felt himself slowly but surely going mad. His optimism was fading, but he held onto Thursday like a drowning man holds onto his last breath. It was his last chance.

That end of the business went wonderfully. He wasn't even late to dinner, though his cheeks were a bit pink still from the winter air. It couldn't be helped. Meals were a lot nicer now because they didn't involve Pansy's prattle, though they did involve quite a bit of glaring. After eating, he excused himself early for bed and drew the curtains around his four-poster before he pulled it out. He scrubbed his hand in his hair nervously and hoped that his plan would work.

The next day, Draco carried it — wrapped and tucked away in his book bag, of course — to Defense Against the Dark Arts. There wouldn't be an opportunity for him to present it to her, but if he could only _sneak_ it to her . . . he wanted it to be a surprise, after all. Something that wouldn't give him away if she were to turn him down. _If_.

Class was dull again. Snape had them doing concentration exercises every Friday. Draco was beginning to suspect that the man enjoyed watching students fidget and watch the clock for the weekend holiday. Fortunately, though, this kind of class presented the perfect opportunity for him. The entire student population in the class would have their eyes closed. So, it was a cinch to slip the package into her bag when she wasn't looking. He left as soon as Snape dismissed them.

Hermione was a bit slower, chatting with Ron and Harry as if nothing was the matter. She had glanced around earlier, but saw that he had already left the room.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"Er, of course." She hefted her bag over her shoulder and robotically followed them out to lunch. They talked about how unusually surly Snape had been, and how many times Pansy had sniffled loudly for attention. (That was particularly funny.) They did not, however, talk about Malfoy. In fact, the name hadn't passed any of their lips the entire week. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that, so she pretended that she hadn't noticed.

The three of them walked into the lunch room and sat down together, Hermione across from Lavender. "Hello."

"Hello, Hermione. Could I borrow a quill from you? I have to get this down before I forget . . . ."

"Of course." Hermione reached into her bag, expecting her quill to be on top of the pile. But instead, her hand bumped into a . . . something. "Hm?" She pulled out a plain package from her bag, puzzled. It was certainly not hers. Her fingers slipped on a loose piece of parchment. Curious, she took it from under the twine and unfolded it.

_I think this makes it even._

Hermione's hands clenched around the parcel as she fought to control her breathing. It was _his_ handwriting. She read and reread his words, letting them soak in fully before she cast the note aside. Her fingers trembled as she removed the twine and peeled back the paper, carefully dropping its wrappings on the floor beside her.

Inside was a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_.

She brushed her palms over the leather, savouring its warmth, the feel of the book in her hands. Its pages were crisp and new, yet she felt as if she were holding a treasure. He was . . . Malfoy was . . . .

"Hermione?" Lavender pressed. "The quill."

Abruptly, she rose. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"Huh?"

"Fhaa?" said Ron through a bite of his apple.

Harry looked just as shocked, though not half as silly. "What do you mean? Where are you going?"

She glanced at the book again. "I just . . . I have to go." When she looked up at them, she was grinning so widely, they were taken aback. "I'll tell you later." And she ran off before they could protest, pursued by Lavender. She had even abandoned her things.

Ron, having swallowed, immediately said, "Something's wrong with Hermione. We have to follow her."

Harry didn't sense his logic immediately. "What are you on about? She looked fine. Why would we — hey!" Ron was already marching out the Great Hall's doors, and Harry scrambled to follow, if only to keep the redhead out of trouble.

Hermione was scrambling, too. She had seen him leave only moments before; he must have been heading to the dungeons before Healing so —

She heard someone call her name. Malfoy? She automatically turned and was horrified to find, not Malfoy, but Mathias glancing about the hallway for her. Frantically, she searched for a place to hide, but found none.

Then, from nowhere, Lavender appeared at the Ravenclaw's side. "Mathias! I've been looking for you _everywhere_," she gushed, snatching up his arm with a wild giggle. He grimaced and tried to pull away, but her grip was too tight. "I heard a nasty little rumour about Hannah and you, and I wanted to ask . . ." Her voice slipped into a whisper, and she dragged him in the opposite direction with all her might. When the flirty Gryffindor caught Hermione's eyes, she winked.

"Thank you," Hermione mouthed, and scampered away, down the corridor to the dungeons.

And then she found him.

It was rather abrupt and uneventful — he wasn't there, and then he was, about five paces down the corridor. They both saw each other at the same moment and froze on instinct. Hermione rather thought her hair would catch on fire, her face was so heated.

From around the corner, Ron and Harry were watching. "What the bloody hell is going on?" Ron hissed lamely.

Harry seized his mate's shoulders and rapidly steered him away, knowing full-well what was about to happen. "We'll see her for dinner," was all he said.

Draco and Hermione were still motionless. Now that she had found him, she had no idea how to proceed. Her face began to heat up. "Thank you," she burst suddenly, "for the book."

His cheeks tinted, and she was shocked when he snapped, "Glad you can be bought, Granger."

". . . _Huh_?"

"Do you think I didn't notice? You haven't breathed a word to me in class!"

"I _tried_ to talk to you, but you were acting like a complete arse! You hardly even looked at me!" She found herself taking steps closer, and he did the same, scowling all the while. Whichever way she had expected them to talk, this wasn't quite it. Then again, this was Malfoy. "I didn't know if you were sore, or if you didn't care about me — I was nearly driven mad with embarrassment!"

"That's rich," he said snidely. "If you were embarrassed, how do you think _I_ felt? Fixing so much, making amends, and never knowing if you'd notice? Or even _care_? I was acting like a bloody fool, waiting for you just to _say_ something about it!"

"Not notice? How could I not —" Hermione's eyes widened, and her brain ground to a slow and painful stop. Right, so the last sentence was typical Malfoy. But _before_, he'd said . . . he wanted her to notice. To care. Everything he'd done was for her after all.

He still wanted her to think well of him.

She snapped back to reality in time to catch part of his frustrated babbling. ". . . And besides, I'm pretty sure people were staring when I bought that bloody book for you at Flourish and Blotts because _no one_ reads about learning in their free —"

She quite literally jumped him. Her lips seized his mouth (he was still speaking) and she kissed him with everything she had, tangling her fingers in his hair. She felt his hands come up to support her back on instinct, and although he was slow to react, he was soon kissing her just as fervently.

It wasn't like their kiss in the abandoned classroom before.

It was better.

Because now, Draco could _feel_ her smile with his lips, taste her overwhelming joy that warmed him from the inside out. Everything about her was soft and wonderful. He drew her in even closer just to savour the sensation of her lashes brushing his.

He'd been so foolish to think that he could escape her. She wasn't another Pansy, with false smiles and kisses. No, she was Granger: loud, righteous, and brilliant to the point of absurdity, perfect in her imperfection. He didn't want her anymore. He needed her, like a tree needs the sun, like a fish . . . . Well, you get the idea. He wasn't much for analogies anyways — at least not when he was snogging a former enemy in the Potions corridor.

"Granger," he breathed when they pulled apart, bumping his forehead with hers in a clumsy gesture of affection. "Granger, I'm sorry about everything. I'm really, _really_ —"

"You never know when to shut up, do you?" she snapped before yanking him down for another kiss.

This time, he finally managed to stop thinking altogether.

And, if you were wondering, no — their bodies didn't "mould together perfectly," nor did their kisses appear especially well-placed. In fact, they looked rather foolish, kissing each other senseless in the middle of a school day. Their impending meal time didn't interrupt them. Other students were certainly staring as they made their way to the Great Hall. Draco's hand had gotten stuck in her hair when he tried to run his fingers through, and he only just managed to remove it by means of a sharp tug and a muffled cry from Hermione. For her part, she seemed to be having a difficult time balancing on the balls of her feet to reach his lips; she had to cling to his neck for support, throwing him off-balance nearly the entire time.

But, you know what? They were both the happiest they had ever been.

And that's all that really matters.

* * *

So, that was the last chapter of this story. I am really proud that I saw it through to the end, and that it ended in (what I think was) a pretty nice, put-together way. Thanks to everyone who stuck with me from the beginning, and thanks for putting up with my scattered writing stints. Also, thanks to those of you who congratulated me for graduating; it wasn't necessary but it was much appreciated.

Please review on this final chapter and tell me how you liked the story as a whole. I would love to hear from everyone!


	24. Chapter XXIV

**Chapter XIV**

Reports of the snogging session spread even faster than the news of the breakup. By the time the pair had arrived at Healing (late), Madame Pomfrey herself only gave them a small smile and shook her head before she motioned for them to sit. Lavender's grin wasn't half as rewarding as Mathias' look of horror. Draco even had the nerve to wink at him.

At dinner, Harry and Ron pointedly avoided Hermione's eyes, just as they avoided any topics that had to do with Draco, Slytherin, snakes, or the colour green. Ginny, on the other hand, was ecstatic, and her ceaseless questioning drove the two boys to another section of the table. It took them a few days to work up the courage to move back, and it was another month before they could even talk about green again.

Draco didn't have nearly as much of a problem with his friends. Mostly Crabbe and Goyle just went along with whatever he said, but Blaise was particularly happy about the match. He even shot Hermione a smile from across the Great Hall. His own relationship with Susan Bones had only improved, and the four of them often accompanied each other to the library to study.

Pansy Parkinson, on the other hand, saw to it that Draco's father was not left out of the loop. She owled him straight away with the news. He reacted in much the same way that anyone would have expected him to. His disdainful letter arrived within a few days, full of demands for the relation to end and unsightly comments about the girl herself. It ran on for four cramped pages, but the general argument was that absolutely no good would come from the match. Draco didn't let Hermione read it herself, but he did tell her that he would take care of the matter directly. He was true to his word. Draco promptly responded with a long list of benefits that a relationship with Hermione Granger would provide, including some that he would have blushed to show to her. He didn't receive a response from his father, but his mother sent her own personal blessing.

As for the couple itself, they had their quarrels, their miscommunications, and their banter at times. Of course they did — neither Draco nor Hermione had awoken one fine morning with a brand new persona. But they also had laughs, and games, and jokes that only they shared, and classes, and walks . . . they were simply two people that had come to understand and accept each other. Neither of them knew why it had taken them so long in the first place, and neither of them wanted, ever, to part.

* * *

Yeah, I figured one final epilogue wouldn't hurt. How'd you all like it? Please review!


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